From the Ashes
by SilverKnight
Summary: They say every cloud has a silver lining. Try telling the Justice League that.
1. 01 Old Wounds

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

_**From the Ashes**  
By: SilverKnight_

* * *

So, _this_ is what Harley Quinn had been up to these past four years.

Batman frowned as he stared down at the two year old child, tucked safely beneath an oversized blue quilt. His shadow seemed more imposing than normal, spilling thickly over the tiny bed and its oblivious occupant. The boy – Timothy Marshal Dennis, his birth certificate said – shifted, absently rubbing at his nose with his hand; he was peaceful, untroubled. His frown deepened into an angry scowl, unable to head off the memories of Arkham before they surfaced.

Timothy.

She had named her son Timothy.

It had been nearly four years since Tim had gone missing; four years since the single worst night of his adult life. No one would ever know how badly the Joker's actions had scarred him; how he had felt such a dark, satisfying, torturous _glee_ over seeing Tim murder him with his own weapon. The murderous rage which had all but overtaken him receded into a cold, tinny revulsion that cloyed at his insides. He had wanted the Joker dead, and his wish had been granted. Broken laughing echoed dismally in the dimly lit room, and he could have rent himself in two, right then and there. It was _all_ his fault.

The Joker succeeded in the mental and emotional raping of two people that night – Tim, and himself.

Tim was young and strong; he would recover and leave the mansion shortly thereafter, determined to live his life without his assistance. "If I can't earn my keep by being Robin, then there's no point in me being here," were his last words to him. Not even a goodbye. Not even a smile. Not even eye-contact. _(Another night his heart had been dashed upon the rocks; it was for the best, though. It was _always_ for the best.)_

He was not Tim. He would shut himself in and run himself ragged; a small, treacherous voice praying for an adversary that would simply prove too strong. He would take Barbara as his lover – or, rather, Barbara would see him at his weakest and pounce on the opportunity to 'help him'. He would pour all of his festering pain and desire into their brief relationship, fairly overwhelming even her nurturing instincts and forcing her to escape back into normalcy. _(Telling her he had made a terrible mistake in succumbing to _guilt_, for it had never been love – not the way she had fantasized – was irrelevant.)_

Four years was not long enough. A _lifetime_ would never be long enough.

And here he was, gazing down at a slumbering, blissfully unaware toddler named Timothy.

Clearly, he wasn't the only one who felt guilty.

**01.  
Old Wounds  
**

"Sweet dreams, Timmy – "

Batman inclined his head to the left, slightly, serving only to get her cleanly in his sights.

Harley – or Marie King-Dennis, as she currently went – stood stock still in the cracked doorway, silhouetted by a nearby hall lamp. For the briefest of moments, the years of simmering fury intensified to a needle point in his mind, and he dallied with the thought of killing her. It would be quick, it would be easy, and they _both_ knew she deserved it.

Timothy yawned, smacking his lips together as he clutched his worn brown teddy bear.

A small, helpless child, deprived of a mother? Inwardly, he recoiled in horror at himself.

Outwardly, his eyes only narrowed. "Hello, Harley."

She blanched, gaze skittering around the room in panic. Several times, the toddler became her focus; he took a small, but noticeable, step back from the bed, cape draped around himself. The panic slowly morphed into wary amazement, and hesitantly, she moved to stand protectively in front of her child. She was so close to him that she had to arch her upper body back a few inches over the bed to avoid touching him. "What do you want?"

He leaned forward, just to force her further back. "Answers."

She managed a defiant stance despite being bent at an awkward angle. "Yeah, well, you're out of luck. I don't know where the Joker is."

He consciously stilled his hands from lashing out at her. "I wasn't looking for the Joker."

Her brows knit together in confusion. "You caught him?"

"He's _dead_."

She blinked. Blinked again. Then, a tremor ran through her body, blue eyes wide and filled with the kind of stark terror that he saw from those who assumed they were about to die. "N-no..."

Batman didn't bother correcting her, a sickly, malevolent part of him enjoying the fear his presence was instilling in her. He _wanted_ her to suffer – he wanted her to feel the misery he knew, night after night, with the terrible knowledge that nothing he did could ever make it right again. He saw fat, bulbous tears form in her eyes, and felt disgust coat his tongue. Whether it was over her blubbering or his own blackened soul, he couldn't be sure.

He supposed it didn't matter. "I know about the money."

Those same tears rolled down her face as she squinted incredulously at him, anxiety steadily eating at her resolve to protect her toddler son. _Timothy_. "What money?"

His hand, snake-fast, fisted into the front of her blouse, yanking her forward with a startled gasp. "I would advise you _not_ to lie to me right now." She whimpered. His grip tightened. "The money that you're sending to a..._mutual friend_."

He felt her throat against his fingers as she gulped, her lips quivering with terror as she managed out, "I'm only t-trying to help – "

He hit her.

Her head snapped to the side with a pained yelp, her arms shooting up to claw at his wrist as she choked out meaningless apologies through a swollen lip. Growling, he lifted her off her feet, his other hand catching her flailing arms in an iron grip, intent on –

"Mama?"

A pair of two year old eyes stared quizzically up at him.

His name was Timothy.

He dropped Harley like she was made of molten lava and backed up to the window, not noticing how she crumpled to the ground in a heap. Not noticing how she curled into a ball, her hands over her injured face, and wept openly. Not noticing how her husband, awakened from the sounds of her struggle, rushed in to cradle her in his arms. All he noticed were Timothy's eyes swelling with tears, his innocent mind unable to comprehend what just happened, but knowing that his Mommy was hurt, and that he should be frightened.

Batman fled. 

* * *

Superman was worried.

Contrary to popular belief, it was something he did quite often – when one had the world to protect, possessing a care-free, wholesome attitude wasn't as effortless as many would assume. Of course, many also assumed that he didn't have a secret identity, either.

He heard the guttural rumbling of the Batmobile three and a half miles before it pulled in, but he gave Bruce the benefit of actually pulling up before he acknowledged his appearance. The hatch slid back with a mechanical hiss, but to his surprise, Batman didn't move from his seat. Instead, the Caped Crusader simply stared ahead of him, hands still gripping the steering wheel, and ordered, "Leave."

"In a minute," he replied cordially, starting towards the sleek black vehicle.

"_Now_."

He shook his head amiably. "Nope."

Wordlessly, Batman slid out of the cockpit and away from the car in one fluid movement, choosing to take the high road and deny his existence. He stalked to the Batcomputer with a practiced ease, measured and steady, and yet, Clark couldn't shake the feeling something was off. Well, that wasn't really true – he _knew_ something was off. After Bruce's resignation from the League, he'd cut off all ties to everyone; even his previous wards. For a man who claimed to be such a stalwart loner, he went to strangely great lengths to ensure that he was, at least, kept apprised of those he cared for. A sudden apathy towards his loved ones was unlike him.

Clark knew Bruce could vanish without a trace, if he wanted to. Everyone knew. But it hurt to see him actually do it.

"You look terrible, Bruce." He was ignored, as he thought he would be. Floating across the Cave silently, he touched down next to Bruce and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?"

Batman flattened his hands against the sleek metal console, leaning onto his arms and glaring at the empty computer screen in front of them. Ordinarily when Batman ignored him, he would go about his nightly business while doing so. The reporter in Clark noted this behavior, and decided to make use of it.

"So," he began conversationally, "how's Tim?"

Batman stiffened. Oddly, he didn't whip his head around to peel away Clark's skin with his eyes alone, the way he was normally wont to do when anyone broached the subject of his 'Bat-family'. Instead, the Dark Knight merely sat down at his high-backed computer chair, and began typing. Judging by the reports he was accessing, all dated from years ago, it appeared to be little more than busy work. Something to keep his hands occupied.

He then spied that there was a smattering of blood across Bruce's left gauntlet. It was a paltry amount, comparatively, but he logged the information, anyway. And Bruce's heart rate was becoming elevated. Quickly.

He pressed the issue. "Haven't seen him around here, lately."

"You haven't _been_ here, lately," Bruce growled, fingers clattering across the keys.

He frowned. Stubborn for all the wrong reasons. "Have you tried talking with him?"

"He screens his calls," came the clinical reply.

Superman furrowed his brow, leaning one hand on the computer while resting the other on his hip. "I doubt something like that would ever really stop you. Why don't you want to talk to him?"

"This is none of your business," Batman snapped, fingers jamming against the keys with a renewed fervor. Clark couldn't help but wonder what the keyboard ever did to him.

He glanced around the solemn, quiet Cave, feeling the unnatural chill soak into his body. He almost never got cold. "Where's Barbara?"

_Click, click, click._ "She moved on."

He sighed and shook his head. He'd danced around the issue for years, out of respect for Bruce and his extended family. He'd let the man rebuff his every attempt at assistance, let him pull further and further away from everything he cared about. Now, looking upon the man that he'd called his best friend, a brother in arms, he was assaulted by an overwhelming surge of guilt. "Bruce, you don't have to hide away from everyone."

"I'm not hiding."

"So, what do you call this, then?" He motioned to the computer with a thick hand.

Bruce swiveled his chair and began typing on another, smaller keyboard. "Working."

He arched a brow, unconvinced. "On ten year old solved cases? Don't sidestep the issue."

"There's no issue to sidestep, Kent," Batman grunted, returning back to the main keyboard, the clacking echoing dismally through the Cave. "What do you want?"

"To help," he answered, concern lacing his voice.

The clicking stopped.

Bruce's bloodied left hand twitched. "Then leave."

"What if I said the League needed your help?"

The typing resumed. "Do they?"

"They could always use it," he replied jovially with a shrug. Internally, he was fighting back a twinge of desperation. This wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. Truthfully, he wondered why that surprised him at all.

"You're wasting my time," Batman hissed as he stood, cape swirling dramatically behind him.

Clark tried not to scowl. It proved to be difficult, given the company. "Mr. Terrific has gotten word of a big shipment of illegal goods heading into Gotham tomorrow night," he explained. That would get his attention. "I thought you'd like to know."

"I already do." _Damn._ He should've known. "And I'll handle it."

"Bruce – "

"Gotham is my city," he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. Clark had officially worn out his welcome. "I can protect it myself."

"But who's going to protect _you_?" Superman rebuked sharply, anxiety for his long-time friend bubbling to the surface.

"I don't need protection, Kent," Bruce argued, tugging at a printed read-out. They looked to be schematics, but for the life of him, Clark couldn't remember when Bruce had brought that up on the screen. "In case you haven't noticed, I've been doing this for years."

"Decades." He was rewarded with a sideways glare. "I'm not one to meddle, but – "

Bruce turned back to his print-out. "You're incapable of not meddling, Clark."

Clark. First name basis. Maybe he was getting somewhere. He smiled, a perpetually boyish thing, even in the dankness and malaise of the Batcave. "I'm good at it, what can I say?" He took a risk and closed the distance, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. He felt the tightly-corded muscles go taut under his fingertips. "Bruce, listen to me. I know you're going to say no, but just...hear me out, please." Thus far, Bruce hadn't forcibly removed his hand, so hopefully... "I'd like for you to rejoin the Justice League."

"No." The word was stolid, absolute.

"Bruce, we _need_ you," he pleaded, infusing the slightest measure of his unimaginable power into the gesture.

"Gotham needs me. The League can handle itself."

"I'm not just talking about the League." That garnered his attention; his head turned, slowly, over his shoulder to stare at the Man of Steel. The order to elaborate was clear. "You've cut off ties with _everyone_, it's..." He fumbled for the right way to say it, before he surmised there _wasn't_ a right way. "Diana, Wally, and the others...they're worried about you." He paused. "_I'm_ worried about you."

Batman remained silent for several seconds, his gaze appraising, if not accusatory. Finally, he spoke, his voice unreadable, "I appreciate your concern, Clark, but I'm fine. If I needed your help, I'd have asked you for it."

"You didn't last time," Clark countered, regretting his words the moment the tumbled from his mouth.

Bruce's eyes went cold. He felt his skin crawl underneath the confines of his suit as Batman harshly shrugged his hand off. Quietly, with an iron-tight control that only served to enhance the danger of it, he said, "I trust you know the way out."

He scowled as the dark figure stalked off, a mixture of anger and sadness churning in his gut as he relented – again – and let his best friend walk further into the darkness. "Yeah. I do."

**_To be continued..._**


	2. 02 Trial by Fire

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Diana of Themyscira absently ran a long finger around the rim of her iced mocha, gazing down at the Earth; a sapphire gem in a sea of stars. Her life before leaving her beloved home was a...peaceful one – it was quiet, and content. She had her mother, she had her sisters, and that was all she had needed. Her journey into Man's World was, to put it mildly, a shock – the world outside of her island was filthy; dirty, corrupt, and heavily favoring those with the lack of scruples to trounce upon the weak to achieve their goals. Though she would never admit it, her first few weeks in that strange new world was nothing short of terrifying.

But Amazons did not succumb to fear. They overcame it.

Though the trials she faced her numerous, and not without personal sacrifice, she stood now, seven years later, a beacon for her people – for _all _people. Injustice and oppression would not be permitted to hold sway on Man's World or any other, so long as she could lift her sword and wield it for those who couldn't do so themselves.

She distractedly tapped her fingernails against the nearly-empty cup, her azure eyes wandering to the cluster of satellite readings in front of her. Organized supervillain activity had tapered off in the past six months, but that still didn't stop individuals from trying to take advantage of a decaying situation. Southeast Asia was getting hit hard with a pandemic, fast acting, and fast spreading. China, Vietnam, Laos, and Myanmar all issued nationwide quarantines. Neighboring countries, and the world at large, issued safety warnings for anyone who traveled; they even went so far as to deny their own people entry back into their homeland, if they believed to be within a hundred miles of an affected zone. A logical choice, but she sympathized with those displaced, never the less.

Panic was beginning to take root among the populace of Man's World. And anywhere panic went, mayhem surely followed.

**02.  
Trial by Fire  
**

Diana felt a gust of wind rustle her hair, and smiled over her shoulder, flashing brilliant white teeth. "Hello, Flash."

"Heya, Wondy!" he waved in greeting, grinning wide. "Sight-seeing?"

"Just catching my breath," she replied, taking a sip of her mocha. "It's been pretty hectic lately."

The Scarlet Speedster nodded, pivoting on his heel to casually rest his hip against the sophisticated array. "I'll bet. I think I've seen you more in the news than in person the past couple of months."

She nodded. "That's probably because you have. I admit, I've almost been wishing for some villain to try his hand at world domination. It would certainly provide more excitement than diplomatic functions."

"Hey, be careful what you wish for," Flash mock warned, smirk still on his lips. "'Cause if someone tries to take over the world, that means we _all _have to chip in, and personally? Explaining to Linda why I missed our anniversary would really suck."

"But, wouldn't she know why?" she asked, curious.

He shook his head despairingly. "Relationship 101, Di – if you miss your anniversary, you're automatically in the dog house."

She cocked her head to the side in minor confusion. "Why would she want you to sleep there?"

Wally beamed, leaning down to wrap his arms around her in a squeezing hug. "I have _so _missed you!" He glanced up at the nearby clock and made a point of doing a double-take. "Whoops, almost eight, gotta run! See ya, Wondy!" She raised a hand as he zoomed off, a blur of red, and shook her head. That man could make Superman dizzy.

A figure walked through the door Flash just exited, large hands balled into fists at his sides. The smile left her face. Speaking of which. "You talked to him?"

Superman frowned as he came to a halt behind her. "I talked _at _him," he clarified, his baritone laced with frustration. "He didn't seem interested in anything I had to say."

She sighed wearily, kneading a temple with her left hand. "Stubborn man," she muttered under her breath. "How did he look?"

Kal's frown deepened. "Like a walking corpse." He raked a hand through his thick black hair, expression pinched. "I'm really concerned about him. Even after he left, he didn't look that..._worn out_." His eyes caught hers, and she struggled not to be taken aback by the sheer amount of distress in them. "There's something wrong, Diana. I _know _it. And he won't say anything."

Her aristocratic features hardened. Depositing the remainder of her mocha into a nearby wastebin, she stood, ready for battle. "Maybe to _you_, he won't," she challenged, ready to stalk off to the teleporter and give that obstinate, self-righteous _man _a lesson in humility. He couldn't serve any purpose if he was floundering about in the Underworld.

Before she could manage two steps, Superman rested a hand on her shoulder, halting her. "Diana, don't. Going charging down there demanding an answer is only going to make him clam up even more."

Her fingers hooked around the golden, glowing lasso on her hip. "Then I'll have to make sure he opens up."

A klaxon cut off whatever reply Superman had in mind. Argument forgotten, the heroes rushed out of the sterile, computer-lined room, even as Mr. Terrific called. "Superman, Wonder Woman, meet me on the bridge."

Wonder Woman's lips stretched into a small, ironic grin. "Careful what you wish for."

"Huh?" Superman grunted.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Let's go."

* * *

Mr. Terrific heard the elevator doors slide open with a hiss and shifted his posture to acknowledge them. His fingers worked over the controls with efficiency as he brought up a view of Hong Kong, flames dancing across the flickering hologram. "Volcana and Firefly," he explained, hitting a switch and bringing up a digitized blue-print of the damaged area. "They appeared approximately twenty-five minutes ago and have been laying waste to downtown Hong Kong."

"Hong Kong," Diana echoed, brows furrowed. "Isn't that one of the cities the Chinese government has put under strong quarantine?"

"Which is why they called us," Mr. Terrific answered, enlarging the display of the wrecked cityscape miles below them.

Superman nodded. "Right. Let's go."

Both Superman and Diana were halfway to the transporter when he called out, "Superman, wait!"

The Man of Steel stopped, hovering in mid-air with a questioning gaze. Despite himself, Holt couldn't help but think that Superman was as close to a God as he would ever believe to exist. "We don't know the exact nature of the infection; moreover, if it would affect metahumans."

"Your idea?" Superman asked.

He merely pointed at the technicians waiting just outside the soft blue glow of the transport pad. The two followed his gaze and saw what the blue-clad techs were holding in their grasps.

* * *

Diana frowned when the world materialized in front of her, gawking at the thick yellow Hazmat suit that covered her. "This won't exactly inspire confidence to the locals."

"Better that than the alternative," Superman replied with a shrug, gaze sharp and focused. "Remember what Mr. Terrific said. We can't afford to break containment on these suits; we don't know if the toxin is airborne or not. Play it safe."

She took in her surroundings, assessing the situation. In the sub-half hour that the two firebirds had to themselves, they had all but decimated a sizable portion of Hong Kong's financial district. Jets of flame shot out from windows and doorways, heavy columns of smoke engulfing the buildings and choking the bright blue sky into a sulfurous yellow. The air, even through the breathing apparatus built into the suit, stank of soot and ash. "Tell that to _them_."

Kal turned to the right, launching himself into the air. "This way!"

* * *

Garfield Lynns loved hot women.

Volcana casually stepped through a floor-length window, glass crunching under her heels as her hips swayed in all the right ways. Stopping short of a sealed door, she rose one elegant hand and pressed it against the reinforced steel. In the span of seconds, it sizzled and melted like butter, molten metal pooling on the ground and igniting the scratchy red carpet.

He felt the heat across his armored feet and legs as he walked through their newest blaze, gazing lovingly into its hypnotic dance as though it held the secrets of the universe. For him, it did. The future was written in those flickering colors, he just needed a big enough flame to see the whole picture. And who better to paint that picture for him than the Queen of Fire herself?

She glanced over her shoulder, past that long mane of wild red hair, and blew him a kiss. "Are you coming?"

A pyromaniac _and _assertive. It didn't get hotter than that.

* * *

It was eerie how deserted everything was. Superman streaked through the streets, barren save for the destruction Volcana and Firefly had wrought. If he remembered his time zones right, it should have been about 10 o'clock in the morning – this place should have been booming. Aside from the crackling of flames, the silence in downtown Hong Kong was downright deafening.

He stopped at a bank: Chen Republic Holdings. He was momentarily surprised that it was written in English, before he remembered Hong Kong's rather conflicted history. Noting the broken glass – and the melted safe near the back of the building – he concluded they had reached their destination.

"They're in here," he stated, flying inside.

Diana followed shortly behind, flanking him.

* * *

Claire Selton used to adore rubies. Maybe it had been growing up watching the Wizard of Oz, or from the necklace her father had given her as a birthday present, but she was always fascinated by them. Their color, their luminosity, the way they glinted so perfectly in the sunlight. Staring at the veritable treasure trove of jewels nestled within a safe-deposit box – opened courtesy of Firefly – Volcana felt like a child again. "Beautiful," she whispered, holding a ruby up to let it catch the ambient light from the fire outside. "Isn't it?"

"It's amazing," Firefly responded, crouched next to her. His attention, though, seemed more focused on the rest of the contents of the box. Volcana didn't care. She indulged in her nostalgia, watching as the ruby glittered in the warm red hues. So perfect.

A shadow fell across the jewel, killing its spark.

She whirled around, red eyes wide. Superman and Wonder Woman stood silhouetted against the wall of fire she'd created, effectively blocking their way out. "A little far from home, aren't you?"

So, Superman decided to pay his respects, did he? She could use the challenge. "Hey, lover-boy," she cooed at her partner in crime, "up for a double date?"

She heard the grin in his voice as he hefted his flamethrower. "Always."

* * *

Diana ducked another fireball, twisting her torso to allow a column of flame to sail harmlessly past her. As she dropped her altitude, Volcana smiled, all fangs, and sped down towards her. She easily blocked a right cross and countered with an elbow to the villainess' jaw. "There are other places to attack."

Volcana reeled, plummeting fifty feet before righting herself mid-air, wiping at her mouth. "Yeah, but other places aren't abandoned."

She charged.

* * *

Superman easily sidestepped his flamethrower's spray, appearing unimpressed. Firefly frowned. Well, this wasn't going to work. He decided to try his hand at aerial combat, and took to the sky.

"This place is a hot zone," Superman stated, giving chase. "The entire city's been quarantined."

"So I heard," he huffed, weaving around and through plumes of smoke. Superman was invulnerable, but that suit he wore wasn't. If he could just get him close enough to a fire... "I figure I'm doing these guys a favor." He wheeled around and fired his weapon again. The Man of Steel dove under the haphazardly aimed shot, the ball of flame instead colliding with a building behind him. The steel blackened upon impact, the plexiglass windows melting with a hiss.

That seemed to annoy him. "By destroying everything?"

"By purging it," Firefly answered, his voice eerily calm. Fire destroyed germs, after all. Fire destroyed weakness. He was performing a civil service, though he was sure the vaunted League would never see it that way.

Firefly careened around a smoldering building, hoping to lose his pursuer in the billowing smoke. Naturally, then, he was surprised when the jet pack was forcibly torn from his back with one monumentally powerful hand while his beloved flamethrower was crushed with another. He shrieked, clamoring to hold onto his demolished weapon with both hands – now the only thing keeping him airborne – as he gaped at the two-hundred foot drop that awaited him if Superman suddenly decided to play for keeps.

He put on a brave face. "It doesn't matter what you do to me, Volcana's already turned Wonder Woman to ash!"

Inconveniently, Wonder Woman chose this time to dive past them both, a flailing Volcana held in what appeared to be a headlock, as she slammed them both into a concrete roof.

Superman raised an eyebrow at him through the sealed blue visor. "You were saying?"

* * *

Snared within the unbreakable Lasso of Truth, the two firebirds remained semi-conscious at Diana's feet. Surveying the damage, she pressed a finger against the communicator in her ear. "Wonder Woman to Watchtower. We've got Firefly and Volcana subdued, but we could use some help putting out these fires. Do you know the ETA of emergency personnel arriving on the scene?"

Static crackled over the transmission. _"Negative, Wonder Woman. No emergency personnel is en route."_

She and Kal balked. "What?" he exclaimed. "Dozens of buildings are in flames!"

_"The quarantine is absolute, Superman,"_ Mr. Terrific explained tensely. _"All inhabitants of Hong Kong have been ordered to remain at home, indoors until further notice. Disobeying that edict carries a harsh penalty."_

Her face tightened in utter disbelief. Kal had already taken off to put out the nearest fire. "But what about firefighters? Police officers? Doctors? People will need supplies and medical attention after a while."

_"According to the reports,"_ he answered, _"there are several authorized stations with Hazmat-ready units for every day needs."_

"And for _non_-everyday needs?"

_"You're looking at it, Princess."_

She couldn't believe it. Given the virulence of the disease, leaving them to their own devices was a veritable death sentence. Just when she thought Man's World couldn't show more depravity to their kin, something always proved her wrong. "Could you contact one of those 'authorized stations' and let them know they have a major situation?"

More static. _"I've contacted the Chinese government with a status update. They said they're gearing up a battalion to take control of the situation. They should be mobile within the hour."_

"Within the hour?" she barked.

_"Don't shoot the messenger, Diana, I'm doing all I can up here," _he retorted. Mr. Terrific sounded as pleased about the situation as she was.

"Right," she replied contritely. "I'll keep you apprised. Wonder Woman out."

She tightly secured the duo to a nearby lamp-post, uttering, "Don't even try to escape. You won't like me tracking you down." With that finished, she gazed at the city around her, lifeless and crumbling, and sent a silent prayer to Hera to watch over these people.

Somebody had to.

_**To be continued...**_


	3. 03 Cornered

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Bruce hadn't slept in almost three days. This was nothing new for him.

A weariness crept into his bones, seeping into the damaged cartilage and scar tissue of his left knee. His muscles had long-since learned the futility of protesting the abuse, but still begged for a respite. He glanced at the chronometer embedded into the computer array with only a vague interest. 00:37. 12:37 AM. He was running late for patrols, but he had to make sure he had every available scrap of information on that shipment before leaping into trouble. After all, there was nobody left to pick up his slack, anymore. He couldn't afford to make a mistake.

_'Any _more_ mistakes,' _he corrected himself sharply.

A pair of bats squabbled angrily among the stalactites. He grit his teeth, glaring through the satellite image of the Gotham Docks as he clenched a hand into a tight fist. He felt the joints pop, relieving much needed pressure. He didn't notice. He seemed to be making more of them, lately; it irritated him intensely. His aborted meeting with Harley Quinn was only the latest, though, he assumed darkly, not the last. Distantly, Batman recalled shaking her hand when she exited Arkham with a clean bill of health. He even recalled her kissing him in gratitude after being escorted back not one _(bad) _day later –

Something in him twisted. He didn't remember his leg becoming stiff so quickly four years ago. He didn't remember feeling so suffocated by the silence of the Cave before. He didn't remember a lot of things that were starting to make themselves all too apparent, all too quickly. He had tried, desperately and repeatedly, to pinpoint exactly when things started to change so drastically. Unfortunately, the more time passed, the more convinced he grew of the culprit.

The Dark Knight had gone and gotten old.

**03.  
Cornered  
**

The computer warned Bruce of her arrival the moment she stepped foot on – or, in Diana's case, flew over – the Manor grounds. A low, hateful growl bubbled from the base of his ribcage. Stubborn woman. He didn't have the time or patience to deal with another happy-go-lucky, doe-eyed member of the League showing up at his doorstep to try and cheer him up. He _detested_ pity; their attempts to pull him into their sunshine-filled world only served to insult his sensibilities. He found it hard to fathom how those two could _not_ have figured that out about him after knowing him for seven years _(in Clark's case, almost ten)_.

Idiots.

Batman rose from the relative comfort of the computer chair, disregarding the _pop_s as his spine realigned itself, and headed for his utility cache. He would need some acid to rot the locks on the cargo units. The telltale clacking of Wonder Woman's heels as she gently landed on the unforgiving Cave ground alerted him to her presence. He examined the contents of the belt pouches while he made every effort to ignore her.

She didn't give him much of a chance. "What's going on, Bruce?"

Straight-forward and to the point. He remembered secretly finding it sexy as hell, once. The weight of his own misery fairly squelched that thought before it started. "I don't recall asking for a babysitter."

"What happened?" she questioned. "I know you don't like company, but this is beyond just trying to keep your life private. You're running away from everyone. Why?" He bristled at the subtle implication in her tone. "We're your _friends_, Bruce, we deserve an answer."

He loaded a small spray container of sulfuric acid into a pouch on his right side, resisting the urge to take the handful of smoke bombs in his fingers and hurl them at her. "Is that a fact?" he responded, voice cold. His patience for this nonsense had worn so thin, it was practically see-through. His head and shoulders twisted, serpentine, and affixed her with one of the most dangerous, baleful glares she had ever seen.

Diana gasped when she caught sight of him, perfectly sculpted face slack with shock. "Hera, Bruce," she breathed, her eyes pained. "You look like you've just escaped from Tartarus."

Her compassion only darkened his expression further, going from thunderous to Category-Five-hurricane in the blink of an eye. "You barge into the Batcave, uninvited and unannounced, start prying into my personal life, which is _none_ of your business, accuse me of being a coward, and then say that you _deserve _an answer?"

She wilted, just a fraction, under his acidic diatribe. "This isn't just about me, Bruce. And believe or not, this isn't just about you, either."

He crossed his arms expectantly over his chest, if only to keep them occupied. Who did she think she was? "Really."

Her deep blue eyes flared. He remembered finding _that_ sexy as hell, too. It had been..._fun _to occasionally prod her, goad her, drag out that fiery spirit in her. He bit back a sudden wave of nausea at the memories. Lifetimes ago.

"Even if you deny them entry into your life, there are people in the world who still care about you," she explained. "They don't want to see you suffer needlessly. Shutting everyone out of your life isn't going to suddenly remove you from _theirs_." She paused, her gaze almost pleading. "We're all suffering, Bruce. Let us help."

He glared at her, full of malice...and, amazingly, felt himself start to waver.

Instead, he snarled. "Leave."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on," Diana declared, arms akimbo.

He grunted, gliding towards the Batmobile. "Suit yourself."

"And neither are you," she challenged boldly, stepping in front of him.

Bruce's eyes became solid granite. The hell she _would_. Several unflattering words were on the tip of his tongue, when he felt her fingers, long and elegant, land on his left bicep. His too-empty stomach churned with another, stronger, bout of nausea. He clenched his teeth tightly, taking a slow and steady breath through his nose to relax the acute, reflexive tightening of his throat. Perhaps he should have eaten earlier today. It was a moot point, now. His face burned with the concentration it took to force down the urge to retch. "What's wrong, Bruce? Tell me, please."

He replied the only way he knew how. "You're in my way."

She sighed, a quiet and long-suffering sound. "Does Alfred know you're exhausting yourself like this?"

His tired features hardened; a sudden, explosive anger rising like steam from his abdomen. He all but yanked his arm away, shoving past her – past her pedantic, useless, nauseating _kindness_. "Alfred is resting," he grated out.

Undaunted, she followed in the wake of his fluttering cape. He was _not_ in the mood for this. "I didn't know Alfred _could _rest." Always perceptive. Damn her. "Is he alright?"

"He will be." He had to be.

She hummed in thought. "Well, I know _you _don't want a babysitter," she began, a smile in her voice, "but do you think Alfred could use one?"

No. "He'll be fine by himself."

He reached the Batmobile, flicking the control on his gauntlet that opened the canopy with a small _whoosh _of air. In his peripheral, he saw Diana cock her head to the side in question, one hand resting on her hip, while the other pressed a finger thoughtfully to her lips. "Is it alright if I ask him?"

_No. _"He's asleep. He doesn't like to be disturbed."

She arched a brow, amused. He glowered angrily. Yes, the great, uncaring Dark Knight _did_ occasionally show respect for the personal wishes of others. Far more often than he ever let on, in fact. She was doing this on _purpose_–

"Cranky sleeper?"

He expelled an exasperated sigh through lightly clamped teeth. He didn't want to talk about this. Not now, not ever, most definitely not with _her_. "Just _trust _me, Diana."

Her other hand settled back onto her hip as she nodded in deference. The smile on her face became tinged with sadness. "Alright."

Sadness for _him_.

_Damn _her.

Wonder Woman straightened, schooling her features. "I'm not letting this conversation go, Bruce."

And Bruce wouldn't have expected her to. The lack of sleep left him incapable of arguing any further without compromising her health, his sanity, or the Mission. Besides, he had a job to do, and he needed to focus on doing it. "Fine," he growled, slipping behind the wheel. "Do what you want. Just stay out of my way."

The sound-proof canopy slid overhead, closing him off from the ambiance of the Cave. Never the less, he still managed to make out her reply as it left her lips, reading them through the windshield. "For now."

He bared his teeth in barely restrained fury as he peeled out of the Cave. Damn that woman and all who spawned her.

* * *

The acrid smell of sea salt wafted through the cool September air as Batman stole along the tarmac rooftop. Crouching at the weather-beaten, yellowed concrete edge, he brought a pair of collapsible binoculars to his eyes. Adjusting the magnification, he focused his sights on the cargo ship that was nestled securely within docks. On the outside, the _Larimar _was the model freighter – all of its cargo boxes were within specified limits, it followed proper docking procedure, and it even had a fresh coat of paint.

The only problem was, the _Larimar _wasn't scheduled to arrive for another thirteen hours.

He counted ten men, scurrying like ants along the deck as they removed their illegal goods with efficiency. No doubt there were several more down below, working the machinery to move the steel-reinforced boxes to the deck for removal. Replacing his binoculars, he stood, a shadow within a shadow, and fired his jumpline.

* * *

Lenny always got the crap shifts.

It never failed; when he was working as a bouncer at Booker Kerry's strip joint, he'd get stuck with all the late night winos and pervs. When he struck out into the muscle-for-hire business, he'd find himself working for whack-jobs like the Joker. _(He _still_ wasn't sure how he survived that one. If he'd been the religious sort, he'd have kissed some deity's foot.) _ And now, getting on in years, he settled down to an easy-peasy dock job – with, of course, a little..._extracurricular _activities when nobody was looking. A little extra money never hurt.

But, staying up to God knows what time – what was it? After 1 AM now? – when he knew he had to be back in five hours sucked. Knowing that he'd left that sweet number at his apartment, ready to go, when these yahoos called him in didn't help.

Story of his life. Just when he got a good thing going, someone had to up and ruin it.

The forklift he was operating jostled from unexpected contact. He grimaced, staring over his shoulder. "Hey, watch it! This thing don't stop on a dime, ya kn – "

A figure with pointed ears and glowing white eyes stared back.

Then a gloved hand snapped out.

He didn't even have the time to mutter, "Figures."

* * *

The Dark Knight moved from target to target, swiftly and silently, melting into the darkness that pooled over the decks in the moonless evening. The last member of the crew – a spindly, ratty figure named Kravitz – tore through the catacomb of cargo boxes, blindly shooting into the night behind him. The bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the crates, the contact illuminating his self-made prison for the span of a millisecond before all went dark again. One such explosion of light was enough to give the man a glimpse of a black shadow that lunged for him.

Kravitz dropped to the ground with a dull _thud_, gun clattering to the ground in pieces beside him.

Dragging him to an on-board crane, Batman handcuffed the man around one of the yellow-painted beams. Content that he was secure, he was about to meld back into the night, when a symbol on a nearby cargo box, barely visible, caught his attention. Eyes narrowed, he strode to the thick metal crate, measuring at least ten feet tall and wide, and ran his fingers over the logo emblazoned on the slate-gray box.

Society of Shadows.

Without second thought, he plucked that small canister of acid from his side pouch and took it to the latches along the side of the box. Anything involving Ra's Al Ghul's criminal network was bound to be bad news, and he wasn't about to let that lunatic get anywhere near his city. Tearing the remainder of the locks from their now broken hinges, he curled his fingers around the heavy steel door and swung it open with an elongated creak.

He traded in the acid spray for a flashlight, flicking it on and giving the contents of the container a once-over. Smaller crates were piled haphazardly from end to end, several boxes showing munitions and other expensive – and very illegal – weapons stored within them. "He's gotten sloppy," he muttered to himself, warily stepping between the narrow space between one row of crates and the next.

_"As have you, Detective."_

Batman snapped his head up toward the familiar voice as the sound of sharp, metallic scraping reached his ears. He squeezed himself out of the small man-made crevice just in time to watch the massive door behind him slam to a close.

**_To be continued..._**


	4. 04 One Step Forward

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Several things occurred to Batman as he strained against the cargo door fruitlessly, teeth bared and palms flat against the cool steel that kept him locked inside the clearly bugged unit. One: the door had been shut behind him from a person he hadn't seen, despite his thorough casing of both the _Larimar_and the dock in question for nearly a week. Two: the door had also been re-locked, even though he had melted the latches away with sulfuric acid mere moments before. Three: the crate was located in plain sight, with an emblem that anyone with serviceable underworld knowledge would immediately recognize.

Ra's was right. He _had_ gotten sloppy.

_"Your physical strength is quite formidable, but your efforts are wasted."_

He raised a finger to his ear. He would try another tactic, then. "Batman to Watchtower."

_"Unfortunately, you will not find your League communicator of much use here,"_ the disembodied voice of Ra's Al Ghul interjected in the cramped space, _"as the radio transmitter that is currently feeding my signal to you is also jamming all other frequencies."_

A few choice phrases ran through his mind, none of them particularly pleasant. "This was a set up," he ground out as he reluctantly straightened his posture, taking a step away from the unmoving door.

_"Indeed it was, Detective. Had you not been so preoccupied with your butler's current state of affairs, I'm certain you would have noticed."_

His eyes narrowed to slits. He knew. "You've been keeping tabs."

_"I like to remain...apprised of my enemies' situations," _the cultured voice responded. _"Surely, you of all people understand the nature of the beast."_

"The beast has nothing on you, Ra's," he growled into the darkness. "What kind of game are you playing?"

_"Oh, I assure you, this is no game,"_ Ra's answered. _"At this very moment, agents of mine are planting explosives along the hull and deck of the Larimar. In five minutes, this ship, and everything on it, will sink to the bottom of the Gotham River in pieces."_

"Thanks for the heads up," he muttered sourly, shining his flashlight along the ceiling, stopping at a small, black object the size of a small light bulb. He frowned up at the bug. "Don't be too disappointed when I get out of this."

_"On the contrary, Detective,"_ Ra's leered, _"with all the resources I've left for you, I'm fairly _counting _on it."_

Static popped and sizzled in the stale, muggy air before it cut out into silence.

He scowled darkly. "Appreciated."

**04.  
One Step Forward  
**

Five minutes. Great.

Batman popped open a flare and dropped it at his feet, tinging the enclosed space a dull, oscillating red. He surveyed his surroundings, rifling through wooden crates full of munitions and various weapons – all of which appeared useless for an escape. He carried a decent amount of C-4 on him at all times, but he ran the calculations in his head and surmised that there was simply too little space in the unit to survive the explosion required to blow a hole large enough to escape through. And he doubted that canister of acid would be enough to eat through it in time.

He flicked the flashlight back up to the bug on the ceiling. Hopping onto a rickety box, he more closely examined the contraption, running his fingertips around the edges for any sort of – there. He yanked the small device from its secured resting spot, slipping it into a pouch for later analysis without thought. The remaining socket was embedded into the steel, as if it were originally intended to hold a low-powered light-bulb. He hummed in thought.

The Dark Knight dropped back down to the ground, dragging crates and tearing off their tops, piling them upon of each other to create a mini-bunker. One and a half minutes left. Balancing himself on the edges of the remaining boxes, he jammed the clay-like charge into the socket. He glanced at the contents of the box he stood on; .50 caliber rounds, disassembled pieces of the anti-tank gun that fired them, and a...schematic? "What?"

He pulled the paper from its neatly tucked place in the crate, hastily folding it and stuffing it into his utility belt. He would deal with that later. Forty-five seconds. He slid behind the makeshift barricade as he gripped an explosive Batarang. He flicked his wrist back, huddling further under the wooden bulwark, and hoped it would be enough. He took a deep breath.

The Batarang flew.

The resulting explosion shredded the roof, the barricade, and his cape.

Batman hacked as the acrid smoke and ash clogged the too-small space of the storage unit, unsteadily vaulting to his feet. He ascended the searing, blackened pile of Ra's illegal weapons, attempting to squeeze through the jagged hole in the ceiling with a grunt of exertion. His shoulders were too large for the narrow passage the C-4 had created, so he had to resort to pulling his left arm and head out, then twisting painfully to drag the other half of his body through. One of the notched edges tore roughly through the thick Kevlar-Nomex weave of his cape and suit; his skin gave no such resistance. Balancing on his arms, he swung his legs onto the roof lithely, using his coiled position to spring to his feet and leap off the edge of his temporary prison.

A heart-beat later, the steel crate filled with strangely inert munitions exploded into a fiery plume. The shockwave threw him over the edge of the ship – now also being rocked by various blasts – and into the choppy Gotham waters below. He righted himself in the frigid saltwater, the gash on his right shoulder burning, and paddled to the surface with a startled gasp of breath. Working his way to a nearby ladder, he dragged himself onto the coarse cement, water-logged and exhausted; strangely, all he could think about was how chafed the suit was going to make him in a few minutes. Kevlar wasn't meant to get wet. Maybe he should make the whole suit waterproof, and not just the cape...

He shook his head clear of the cobwebs. He couldn't afford to dawdle – even though the dock was all but deserted at this hour, someone was bound to hear the reverberation of a freighter blowing up. He ran into the shadows, stealing around and over and through buildings as he made his way back to the Batmobile. That whole encounter was off; it was fake, and they both knew it. The last time Ra's tried to fool him, he'd wanted to make him his successor. He was certain this scheme involved no such _altruism _on his part. He didn't like where any of it was heading.

Batman slipped behind the wheel of his beloved vehicle, and then paused. "'With all the resources I've left for you...'" he repeated distantly. "The schematic – he _wanted_ me to find it." Taking out the now-soaked blueprint from his belt, he unfolded it and poured over the information provided. It appeared to be a highly-sophisticated water-purifier. He made note of the numbers scrawled – now streaking into the paper – in the top left corner:

_40:47:21_  
_73:58:56_  
_09:18:09_  
_01:45:00_

He rubbed his chin. Clearly, Ra's was trying to lead him by the nose, again. But why would he give him advanced notice if it were a another trap? What was his angle in all of this? He eyed the design again. Industrial purifiers were designed to suck in water from pipelines, force it through several sieves to remove impurities and dangerous toxins, and then release it back into the city's...drinking supply...

He sucked in a breath, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with his sopping wet uniform. He knew what those numbers were. His on-board GPS read:

_40:27:18N, 73:43:55W_  
_09/18/09, 1:33 AM_

He floored the gas pedal.

* * *

Diana felt simultaneously honored and extremely worried. On the one hand, Bruce had left her alone in the Batcave. She hardly knew everything about the man – she actually knew very little of his past – but she was fairly certain that the number of people he would let roam freely in his most sacred of sanctuaries was very small. On the other hand, he actually let someone stay alone in the Batcave when he didn't specifically approve it – and remembering his chilly welcome, she assumed her presence there was anything but approved. That alone set alarms off in her mind. Just what was going on in that man's head, right now?

She strolled through the hall of gadgets and gizmos, all carefully mounted and expertly displayed, and marveled at the museum he'd built for himself over his tenure as Batman. He didn't outwardly seem the type to collect mementos from past fights, but she had always felt there was a sort of hidden sentimentality in him. A hidden humanity. There was a man in there somewhere, beneath the playboy and the crusader, that fought desperately to survive in a world full of darkness and fear. It was that man she was so fiercely protective of, and it was that man she feared she was losing – not to a bullet, or to a disease, but to his own demons.

She stopped and rested her hand reverently on one of the glass cases – a red and green Robin costume. Diana didn't know the circumstances surrounding the commemoration of it, but if it involved one of his adopted children, it was undoubtedly bittersweet at best. She held no pity for Bruce; pity was too trite, too _wrong _for such a seasoned and venerated warrior. Instead, she felt only a strengthened resolve to find her way to the bleeding, heartbroken man currently drowning in the Bat, and show him that there was more to life than painful memories.

"It's always a pleasant surprise to find oneself in the company of a lovely lady," a refined and familiar British voice stated. "And here I was, beginning to believe that they no longer existed."

She stepped back from the back-lit costume, a smile spreading across her face. "Alfred," she said as he wound down the stairs, "Bruce told me you were resting."

He dismissed the notion with a small, caustic noise that, from anyone else, she would have considered a snort. "Poppycock. You know as well as I, your Highness, that as long as Master Bruce is awake, so am I."

Her grin widened a touch. She was right. "When _do _you sleep, then?"

He rose an eyebrow. "Who sleeps anymore?" Diana chuckled, glad to see he was in good spirits. Still, the 'conversation' she'd held with Bruce was forefront in her mind, and she could tell that Alfred wasn't quite himself. She had her suspicions, but stopped short of asking directly when the distinguished butler placed the tray in his hands on a small table near the computer console. "Might I inquire as to your visit this evening, madam?"

Her bright smile faltered slightly. She could demand answers from Bruce – from nearly anyone, but intruding in this man's personal life seemed blasphemous. "I just stopped by to see how Bruce was doing."

He nodded sagely, as if her vague comment unraveled a great mystery. "And, I don't suppose, this was at the behest of Mr. Kent?" When her expression became guarded, he continued, "My apologies for being so presumptuous, madam. It's simply that Mr. Kent has been very adamant about trying to speak with Master Bruce of late, and in spite of my efforts to assure him that there is no shame in the help of another – "

"Bruce won't listen," she supplied, hands finding their way to her hips. Stubborn man.

Alfred sighed, and like someone had lifted a veil from her eyes, the perennially prim and proper gentleman became an old and frail man. Her heart became a rock, sharp and heavy, in her chest. She reached out and gently laid a hand over the aged butler's wrist as he poured tea. "You should be resting."

The corner of his thin lips curled up faintly. "You sound like Master Bruce."

She searched his face for clues. His expression was unflappable as always. "What's happening, Alfred?"

He straightened, just a little, and it occurred to her that it may have been painful for him to do so. "There are few things quite so insidious, your Highness, as the passage of time." That quirky little smirk returned. "Master Bruce is approaching this...situation with his trademark stubbornness."

She arched an eyebrow. He was certainly taking his immanent death in stride. "What does he expect to do about it?"

He matched her expression. "I believe that he expects to defeat Death itself."

Her hand tightened over his reflexively, having only now remembered that it was still there. She had only met him a handful of times, but she simply could not reconcile the thought of a world without him in it. She could only imagine how badly Bruce was taking this. "Alfred, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Is there anything you can do, madam? Of course." He placed his other hand on top of hers, his dark eyes boring into hers with an unusual intensity. "Don't give up on him. Even when he gives up on himself."

She reached for his shoulder and squeezed it gently, wishing she could infuse some of her strength into him – make her life a little less immortal – if only to keep this wise and noble man alive for that much longer. Man's World could only suffer from his passing. It was, at the heart of it, a selfish thought, though – if anyone, Alfred Pennyworth earned his rest in the Elysian Fields. She would never deprive him of that. "I won't."

A warm and kind smile lit the old man's face. She couldn't imagine how he looked when he was in his prime, but the glimmer in his eyes was enough to sate her curiosity. "Thank you, madam." He paused briefly, contemplative. "I do have one more request, though, if you would..."

A smile played at her rose lips, happy to oblige him. "What is it?"

He removed his hands from hers, lifting the porcelain tea pot in his fingers. "Would you be so kind as to have a cup of tea with me?"

She nodded, reaching for a cup – and heard a pebble skitter across the Cave floor.

Her hand stayed his with a warning glance. Someone was here. "You should be resting."

"Ah. A rain-check, then." Message received.

She calmly took hold of her golden lasso while Alfred busied himself with returning to the Manor grounds. Her knee-length red boots clacked against the stone ground loudly as she strode forward into the unfamiliar, dank shadows of the Batcave. "You may as well show yourself," she commanded. "I already know you're here."

Men poured from the clinging shadows of the Cave – dozens of them, clad in all black, and equipped with night-vision goggles and automatic rifles. She frowned in chagrin; how could have so many of them have infiltrated this place without tripping an alarm? "This is not your fight, woman," one spoke in a foul, malevolent hiss. "Leave, and you may let live to tell this story to your children."

Her dark blue eyes sharpened. The chauvinistic cretin didn't watch the news, evidently. Their identities didn't matter, at the moment –_ whoever _was foolish enough to dare enter Batman's private sanctum would quickly learn the error of their ways. Wonder Woman would make sure of it.

Bruce probably wouldn't mind.

"Pass," she stated blandly, unfurling her lasso and lunging into the crowd.

* * *

In a world beyond worlds, two figures stood and calmly observed.

"The situation is escalating."

The other nodded in agreement.

"Our presence may be warranted soon."

A scoff. "_**Your**_** presence is not required...**"

"And yours is?"

"**My involvement is yet to be determined...**" A pause. "**Humanity's reckoning is at hand.**"

"Humanity's reckoning is being forced upon itself by one individual."

"**That is how such things often **_**begin**_**... But rarely how they end.**"

A tilt of the head. "I would think that you would _want _to bring vengeance upon him, for all the injustice he has wrought in his time."

"_**His**_** time is coming... And when it arrives, I will mete out his punishment without hesitation.**" He glanced at his companion's blank white eyes. "**But, as you well know, Phantom Stranger, there are forces at play that neither of us can control... Human beings, even Ra's Al Ghul, are little more than pawns.**"

Phantom Stranger tipped his head in consideration. "If we cannot save the pawns from their fate, then perhaps we should warn them to save themselves."

"**What would warning them achieve?**" the Spectre questioned harshly. "**Countless times over history, humanity has disregarded the warnings of its predecessors... Our voices would fall on deaf ears.**"

"Not if we speak to the ones willing to listen," the Stranger responded. "Their Justice League has several powerful magi in their employ. There is also Batman."

"**Batman is bound to make the connection on his own...**" Spectre's lifeless eyes twinkled ominously. "**Provided he survives that long.**"

"It is not Batman's time," the Stranger stated.

"**Perhaps not...**" A cruel smile twisted his cold, dead lips. "**But then, that depends on **_**Batman**_**, doesn't it...?**"

**_To be continued..._**


	5. 05 Two Steps Back

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Diana's fist plowed into the chauvinist's stomach first. He'd earned that right. When he doubled over with a satisfying whoosh of lost breath, she gripping him by the arm and sent him sailing into three other men; they dropped into a tangle of arms and legs. She ducked the blow one figure tried to land on her, catching his arm and twisting it painfully in her grasp as she reciprocated with a fist to his chin. Shifting to throw him to the ground, she pivoted on her right foot to deliver a punishing kick to the temple of another. Blocking a punch, she yanked the man's face down to her knee, arching away from a side-kick and snapping her foot out to connect with another assailant's clavicle in a vicious side-kick of her own.

Her fighting was fluid, each move gliding easily into the next. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so invigorated during a battle. This bothered her slightly, because she really shouldn't have been getting so excited over a brawl in the _Batcave_, of all places.

An unpinned grenade sailed through the air.

Wonder Woman caught it in her left hand and squeezed.

The canister burst in a muffled flash of explosive force. She opened her fingers, letting the remaining pieces tinkle to the floor, unimpressed. "I hope you brought more than this."

More men detached themselves from the shadows, in places she hadn't seen them previously. Reinforcements? They must have been expecting quite a bit of resistance.

Diana smirked. Far be it from her to disappoint them.

**05.  
Two Steps Back  
**

She deflected the hail of gunfire from her next target as she flew towards him, easily batting his machine-gun away and slamming him into the ground. She propelled herself forward, boot first, into the stomach of another. Using him as a springboard, she flipped in a graceful arc and grabbed the shoulders of a black-clad soldier. Swinging herself over his head, she landed in a semi-crouch, using her momentum to hurl the figure over her shoulder. He let out a strangled yelp as he flailed head over heels into the cavern wall.

By now, the remainder of the invading force had split off into smaller clusters, realizing that getting within arm's reach of her was suicide. Unfortunately for them, she was an expert in both short _and _long-ranged combat.

Taking to the air, she looped around a large stalactite, bullets sparking off her impervious silver bracelets. Four took chase to get a bead on her position when the rock formation broke free of the cavern's roof with a thunderous crack. Gasping, the men all fled in different directions as the massive chunk of stone plummeted to the ground, shattering in a dense cloud of dust. Two were knocked unconscious from debris. The other two had little time to react when Wonder Woman ensnared them both within the magical rope, yanked them off their feet, and pitched them into the mounted giant penny with a deafening metallic clang.

A group of three skidded around a corner, narrowly falling off the cliff they sped down, and ducked into one of the Batman's many weapon caches. "This isn't right," one huffed, reloading his weapon. "Wonder Woman was not supposed to be here!"

"It doesn't matter," another rebuked, breaking a nearby glass case and eyed a flail. Wondering idly why the Dark Knight would ever need such a weapon, or what it could possibly do against a super-powered Amazon, he hefted it, anyway. "No mere woman can best the Society of Shadows."

"Society of Shadows, hm?"

The three turned, spying the topic of their brief conversation standing between them and their mission, equipped with a broadsword and round, ridged shield. The Amazon smiled. "Thank you; now I know what to tell Batman after this 'mere woman' trounces you."

The first assassin's rifle was neatly severed in half before he even had a chance to fire. He stared up dumbly in time to eat a buckler to the face and promptly fell unconscious. The second loosed his flail, the spiked club glancing off the shield attached to Wonder Woman's arm. She responded by slamming the flat edge of her sword against his temple, cracking the butt of the weapon over the back of his head as he staggered. The third, who had been silent the entire exchange, charged at her with a rapier. Diana deflected the blade, grabbed the man's wrist with her shield hand, and dropped him with an unladylike headbutt.

She stared forlornly at the Claymore in her grasp. It wasn't Hephaestus-quality, but it would serve her purposes. Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all.

She halted a group of four trying to scale the giant dinosaur – she would have to ask Bruce where that came from, one day – and easily dispatched them, knocking them to the ground with ease as she spied a pair prowling around the Batcomputer. She grinned thinly and warned them, "I wouldn't touch that, if I were you."

They replied by firing repeatedly in her direction. She shrugged and went about tracking down the stragglers. Diana spared a single, victorious smirk when the sound of sizzling electricity and pained screams echoed through the dimly lit cave. It was good to know that _some _of Bruce's booby-traps still remained a surprise to this strange little society of assassins.

Another trio fled down the pathway to the Batmobile. Removing her tiara, she let it fly, cleanly slicing through the gigantic Joker card that hung directly over them. She caught and reapplied her armor as the metal cables snapped and whipped, the metal card crashing down upon them with a hollow, wobbling clatter. The last three splintered off – two diving off a cliff, and a single figure double-backing to grab an instrument that had fallen.

His hand almost grabbed the object before a Claymore speared it into the ground in a shower of sparks. He gasped and tilted his head up as the shadow of Wonder Woman closed in over him. The shapely silhouette removed the faintly-glowing golden lasso from her waist and held it imposingly. Many men, less disciplined ones, would have considered that a turn-on. This man realized the woman in front of him could snap his spine with it. Still, at least he could tell those in the afterlife that he died being tied up by Wonder Woman. "I think you and I need to have a little talk."

* * *

Never in his life did Batman think he'd return to Arkham Asylum for anything again. _Ever_.

The underground reservoir ran underneath a serviceable portion of northeast Gotham, but it was at its largest underneath the old Arkham facility. Despite the stigma of the partially demolished building above, there were still several major pipelines that derived from here, many of which fed directly into a handful of water treatment plants peppered throughout the city. If someone decided to poison the water supply at this particular section of the stream, it would infect most of Gotham's water supply in hours. Scarecrow tried a tactic almost exactly like this, once; his exact recollection was foggy, though, as he had been drugged with fear toxin and was, at the time, certifiably insane.

He never did forget the vision of watching Dick die in a building explosion, cradling his charred, lifeless body amid the rubble. Hallucination or not, he'd _felt_ the boy in his arms, heavy and limp; skin far too warm for a body far too cold. He remembered screaming until his lungs were raw, and it was that horrific half-memory that prompted him to start pushing away his then-college-aged ward. It didn't matter that it wasn't real – it could have _become _real, all too easily.

Deep down, he knew Diana's words to him stung because they were true.

Batman didn't tarry as he stalked down the familiar halls, moving straight to the stairwell that led to the reservoir. His eyes darted to the operat – no, couldn't afford that, he had to focus. The locked door gave weigh easily as he kicked it down – unnecessarily, really; he could have melted the lock, but 67 seconds in Arkham was already more than he could bear.

It was 1:42 AM. He was taking too long.

Stealing through the cavern's well-worn pathway, he rounded the dark corner and saw the water purifier, surrounded by Society thugs. It was significantly smaller than the massive machinery Scarecrow used – its actual size was close to a tank's, with a handful of necessary modifications to it; most notably, a spray nozzle attached to a hose and a small satellite antenna – likely to enact and relay receipt of the water tampering, respectively.

It was nearly 1:44 AM.

Thirty-five feet of open space between the corner he crouched behind and seven well-armed guards. He readied his grapple and fired at the cavern ceiling above the apparatus. No time to lose.

By the time the two sentries farthest from the purifier noticed the sound and gawked up, gas pellets had already rained down and exploded into a choking, rolling cloud. They attempted to take aim, when the soft whirring of two bolas sounded, pinning their arms to their chests and knocking them both onto their backsides. Another, hacking and gasping in the densely packed mist, barely had to lift his weapon before the Dark Knight plunged down from above, cape flaring out, eyes blazing, and slammed him into the ground with the full weight of his body. A Batarang sailed from his fingers and bounced off of the forehead of the nearest opponent. A grapple line entangled itself around the gun arm of the assailant standing on top of the machine, and he was forcibly yanked from his feet, over the Batman's head, and into the charging leap of the sixth thug. They both collapsed in a heap, unconscious.

The seventh, final, criminal feverishly worked at the control panel amid the thick fog. His vision was still clear enough, though, to spot a pointed shadow fall over him. A quick chop to the neck ended the fight before it began, and Batman roughly shoved him aside as he took stock of the mini-panel. His fingers danced over the keys, halting the countdown sequence and powering down the purifier-turned-weapon with a prolonged whining of machinery.

_1:44:47._

* * *

Diana's captor stood fearlessly before her, golden lasso burning bright in the poorly lit Batcave. "Tell me what you know."

The man chuckled quietly. "I know a lot of things. You may need to be more specific."

She leaned in, tugging the noose tighter around his body. "Tell me why you came in here."

He growled low in his throat, shifting within the confines of his bonds for a moment before submitting. "I came in here to steal information from Batman's computer."

Her eyes narrowed. "What information were you trying to steal?"

He grunted. "I was stealing blueprints to your headquarters," he hissed, "along with counter-measures for each League member."

She blinked in mild surprise, her grip on the lasso loosening. "Batman has counter-measures?"

The thug laughed outright at her, his voice rough and unyielding. "Do you not know your own _friend_? Of _course _he has counter-measures for all of you, silly woman!"

Diana grit her teeth and yanked. Hard. Her prisoner wheezed as the unbreakable cord crushed his arms into his torso. She had always known Batman was inordinately prepared for nearly every situation, but knowing that he had planned against _them _without saying anything still hurt a little. The tactician in her responded that counter-measures wouldn't be terribly effective if he told her what weaknesses he had found. She told the voice to be silent. "Do you still have the files on you?"

He shook his head mutely.

"Where are they?"

He bared his teeth. "I gave them to the duo that jumped into the ravine below. By now, they've already uploaded the information to our main database."

Her eyes darkened. "Where is your main database?"

He gasped in pain, chest heaving with exertion to fight the truth. "C...Copán."

Wonder Woman opened her mouth to ask what his leader's plot was when she spied a small red light, flashing faintly between stalactite formations. She scanned the area for others, before turning back to him. "What is that on the ceiling?"

The thug's shoulders quaked as he laughed. Unlike the previous answers, he showed no hesitance when answering. "That is one of the explosive charges I set while you were busy fighting my compatriots."

Her eyes went wide. They had been a diversion. "Explosive charges? How many more did you set?"

She heard the smile in his cold voice. "Twelve in total – all strategically placed to bring the Dark Knight's entire base, and the building that resides over it, to come crashing down when the signal is sent."

She curled one set of fine, super-powered fingers into the man's suit, lifting him off his feet and over her head. "When will the signal be sent – "

Twelve small beeps echoed through the darkened cavern in unison. He let out a victorious bark of laughter and maneuvered his hand to the base of his chin, squeezing tightly. "Now."

* * *

The console beeped.

Batman's hands had barely left the panel when a hodge-podge of numbers trailed down the screen, blinking and...counting down? "What the..." _More_ machines? He attempted to shut down their primary functions, and was rewarded with the phrase, "_Unknown command_," flashing across the small monitor for his efforts. Typing in another command, he brought up a small sub-screen, showing the location of the coordinates.

Twelve red dots were clustered directly over Wayne Manor. Big, bold letters appeared at the base of the image.**  
**

**DETONATION IN 00:05**

He felt his pulse in his eardrums as he jammed a finger to his ear, shouting into the device, "Diana! Get out of there _now_!"

* * *

Diana gasped as the man shuddered violently in her grasp, a noxious green gas seeping from the edges of his goggles. She laid the man on the ground and ripped his mask off, balking at the glassy, sightless eyes that greeted her. She didn't dwell on it, flying to the charge settled directly above her, a sickly yellow brick of plastique wired with an array of wires looping into it. The timer read _00:09_.

She took off as fast as she could manage, a torrent of wind swirling in her wake. The austere grandfather clock gave only a token resistance as she plowed through it, wood and metal splintering in every direction.

_00:05._

_"Diana!"_ her comm-link screamed. Bruce. _ "Get out of there _now_!"_

She didn't reply – couldn't, didn't have time – as she tore through the Mansion at break-neck speed, heading for –

_00:01._

"Alfred!"

_00:00._

The butler turned, startled to see an Amazon hurtling towards him, before she slammed into him. She covered him with her nearly impervious body as their world went white with a foundation-shattering explosion, and then black with nothingness.

**_To be continued..._**


	6. 06 No Place Like Home

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Shayera was beginning to learn that the "Joy of Motherhood" was a packaged deal. She sat in a hard-backed chair, positioned so her wings wouldn't get cramped, with a wriggling newborn in the crook of her left arm; trying her best to stay awake while she held the baby's bottle up. 1:47 AM, and she was ready to curl under a heavy set of blankets and disappear for a week.

Little Rex must have developed telepathy in the past five minutes, because he clearly disagreed with her train of thought. He fussed in her grasp, spitting out the formula with a high-pitched mewl of dissatisfaction. Shayera grimaced as the sound shot into the center of her brain, forcing her tired eyes open. Did full-blooded Thanagarian babies cry this much? She wanted to blame John's human DNA for all of this – continuing a time-honored tradition in which she blamed him at every stage of the pregnancy and birth when it was convenient to do so – but then, she couldn't imagine John as anything resembling this squalling little pudgy creature that was currently shaking his fists angrily at her.

"Yeah, yeah, you're tired, too, huh?" she mumbled to the baby in the quiet room. "Well, you know, you can solve both our problems pretty easily – _go to sleep_. I won't squish you, I promise." Rex was having none of that. She sighed, blinking blearily. "Well, maybe not, anyway. I can't say for sure what _these _will do..." She flexed her wings for effect.

The baby stopped wailing immediately, one eye slit open. Raising her eyebrow, she shifted the newborn up a little, curling one majestic silver wing around her. "Oh yeah, you like these, huh?" Rex gaped blankly at it. She smiled. "Your father likes 'em, too." The two-week-old gurgled, suddenly overjoyed, and waved his tiny hands in the air. She relaxed in the seat, a serenity washing over her even though she was bone tired. She flicked her wing towards the newborn, the soft feathers brushing his rounded pink face, and was rewarded with a tiny giggle.

She couldn't really imagine John _giggling_, either. She knew, the moment she tried to picture that uptight blowhard in diapers and making cooing noises, that she was hopelessly lost in this 'Motherhood' gig. But, if Motherhood brought her sounds as adorable – Her! Calling something 'adorable'! – as Rex's laughter, it was worth every personal sacrifice she could think of.

**06.  
No Place Like Home  
**

"Awwww," a youthfully devious voice chirped from the other side of the deserted commissary. "Wish I had a camera. That's a Kodak moment if I've ever seen one."

Her green eyes shot up to the Flash, and she suppressed the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Wally had that effect on people. "What are you doing here?"

The Scarlet Speedster zoomed next to her, yanking out a nearby chair, flipping it around, and straddling it with his arms looped over the backrest. "Eh, bad nachos and one too many cartoons." She rolled her eyes. Typical reply. "You? Don't you guys have a home for this kinda stuff?"

She let her wing drop back to its normal position. The baby squirmed unhappily. "Rex likes it better up here; he sleeps. Which means _I _sleep." She sighed down at the newborn and unfurled her wing, teasing the boy with the downy feathers. "I know, I know, you wish your Daddy was – ow!"

Rex triumphantly waved a single gray feather in his fat hand, gurgling with happiness. She balked at the little toothless demon-child, torn between anger and respect. "You're fast, huh?"

The Flash jammed a thumb proudly into his chest. "He gets that from me."

Shayera scoffed and turned back to feeding the plump munchkin, emerald eyes drooping closed without her consent. The speedster frowned. Now, that just wasn't right – seeing her fighting off exhaustion like that, especially because of something that couldn't cleave her in two. This looked like a job for Wally West! "Hey, Shayera," he offered, "why don't you let me take care of the tyke for a bit?"

She glared through thick red locks. Wally leaned back in the chair, hands splayed out in the universal, 'Please don't kill me' gesture. "Easy, easy; I'm not looking to baby-nap or anything! It's just that...I mean, you could use some shut-eye, and well, it's not like I've got anything _better _to do for the next five hours or so, and..."

Her glare didn't dissipate. "Wally, do you know how much it takes to care for an infant?"

"Of course I do!" he replied nonchalantly. "I'm with kids all the time."

"Being by yourself doesn't count."

"Hey!" he squawked. "I take care of a lot of people, you know! There's Central City, and Linda – "

"Neither of whom are infants," she supplied, stifling a yawn.

He gave her that toothy, infectious smile that would always lighten a mood – provided the emotional black hole, otherwise known as Batman, wasn't skulking around in a corner, or something. "C'mon, it won't be that bad. I can give the l'il guy a tour, show him the sights, let him puke all over my suit – it'll be great!" He squared his shoulders and stared at her, attempting to exude the seriousness required to watch over a newborn. "I'm serious, Shay – you could really use some R&R. John's been on mission for over a week, you've _gotta _be tired."

Her hard look softened in contemplation. "Wally, this is my son."

He nodded soberly, straightening in the chair. "I know." He cracked a grin, leaning over the oblivious baby. "And he's a cutie, too – ow!" He rubbed his chin as Rex giggled. Shayera looked about ready to burst from pride. "Hey, you _are _fast."

"Well," she said, smoothly transferring the bundle into the Flash's waiting arms, "don't blame me. He gets it from _you_, remember?"

She rose from the chair and waved amiably, padding off to her quarters. He returned her wave, calling out, "Don't worry about a thing, Shay – I've got it covered! No problem!" He smiled down at Rex, the proud pseudo-uncle that would corrupt him with gusto –

And watched the pudgy little bugger vomit over his scarlet, form-fitting suit.

His nose bunched up. "Aw, man, that was _so _uncalled for."

* * *

"Diana!"

No response. No static. Nothing.

"_Diana!_"

The monitor abruptly shut off, humming quietly as it powered down, its malignant purpose served. Batman swore. He switched frequencies, rushing through the winding reservoir pathways. He could only hope that Diana had advanced warning and got herself and Alfred to safety. She was an Amazon – blessed with the speed and stamina to keep them both safe. He believed they were alive. They were. It wasn't a question _(not one he was willing to listen to; never)_.

He flipped open the small modular computer built into his gauntlet, typing in the location of Wayne Manor. "Batman to Watchtower – I need an emergency site to site transport to these coordinates," he commanded roughly, wheeling around a corner and up the stairwell.

_"Copy, Batman," _Mr. Terrific responded, his voice grainy. _"It'll take a few moments to set up, though – "_

"Do whatever you need to," he barked, shoving through the basement doors, "just get it ready!"

He sped out of the partially demolished building, not sparing it the dignity of a backwards glance. The Batmobile was still parked, idling, just outside of the building's entrance; he could always send it on auto-pilot back to the Cave. Minor detail. Sliding into the driver's seat, he relayed the coordinates from his palm-top to the car's computer, while attempting to connect with the Batcomputer for a status update. The screen blinked an error, _'Connection failed.'_

The network Bruce built had three back-up power generators, and its entire functionality was backed up on two redundant, self-sufficient mainframes in the event of a catastrophic software or hardware collapse. Should the original mainframe be damaged or wiped, all of his equipment was programmed to re-route its connection to one of the replacements instantaneously. The Batmobile's inability to do just that meant one of two things: either his coding procedure was grievously flawed, or the Batcave had been obliterated.

At this moment, he would have greatly preferred overestimating his programming skills.

_"Alright, Batman, it's ready,"_ Mr. Terrific stated. _"Transporting now."_

He gave one last look to the empty panel in the Batmobile, suppressing the dread that tingled down his spine, when he was overtaken by the familiarly unpleasant feeling of being stretched, torn apart, and remolecularized some thirty-five miles away. He shook off the momentary icy chill that settled into his body, boots crushing the finely cut grass beneath him, and took in –

His jaw dropped. Over half of Wayne Manor was reduced to smoldering rubble. He was halfway to the ruins, sprinting, before he recognized that he had even moved. His armored hands tore into the first pile of wreckage he came to; a glob of black, sooty smoke squeezed free of its confines and puffed into his face. He ignored it.

What kind of ordinance did they use? The caves were far enough below Wayne Manor that the foundation of the building shouldn't have been affected, unless they placed the charges in key areas with a particular explosive pattern in mind. Nothing so far. Next pile.

Given the way some of the ruined building was sinking into the ground itself, it was highly likely that at least some of the Cave had suffered complete structural collapse – folding in on itself like a house of cards. The location of the sinkhole was, going by dead reckoning, somewhere around his largest chem lab. The next pile yielded nothing. His ash-coated gloves snagged on a splintered plank of wood; he yanked it free, tearing yet another gash into the thick weave.

If the explosive charge was enough to ignite the chemicals and solutions – many of which were dangerous when mixed – then, was it possible _that _was what caused the implosion? Much of the Batcave was reinforced with titanium-alloy beams, specifically areas of vital importance, like the central hub, the armory, and the garage. Beyond that, the network of caves that Bruce had stumbled onto, in actuality, ran for hundreds of miles, all up and down the northeast coast. They were old, existing since before the Manor had even been built. The chance of it caving in entirely was slim to none.

Ra's didn't need to destroy the entire cave network, though. Just the piece of it he called his own.

His hands, arms, and legs were now bloody from stray pieces of charred metal, glass, and wood jutting from the wreckage. He didn't notice. With a growl low in his throat, he upended a large chunk of a bearing wall – judging from the remains of the wallpaper, it was one of the second floor guest rooms – and sent it toppling down, end over end, to the bottom of the rubble. He stood at the top of the hill of debris, smoke belching from the ruins all around him and burbling into the starless night sky. His legs shook uncontrollably as he sucked in ragged, ash-filled breaths. He didn't have the strength to cough.

He couldn't lose anyone else. He _couldn't_.

The comm-link buzzed briefly. An idea sprang to mind. "Of _course_," he muttered impatiently, "a proximity alert!" Batman brought his blackened fingers to his ear, adjusting the personal frequency of his communicator to match Diana's. It immediately responded by sending a high-pitched feedback whine into his ear. He turned until it grew fractionally louder, facing the new sink-hole on his property. His frown deepened as he leapt from the crest of the hill, sliding down the slope of uneven rubble. He skidded to a halt, the comm shrieking in his ear, and dug into the valley of destruction that laid underneath his battered boots. They were here – had to be – if Alfred had one _scratch _on him –

He threw a shattered table over his shoulder, and halted, momentarily startled at the hollow expanse that greeted him. Leaning in, a few stray pieces of cement and plaster tumbling into the void, he switched on his night-vision and called out, "Diana?"

The rubble shifted and swayed in the inky darkness. His eyes widened. "Diana?" he repeated more forcefully.

The stones rolled like an ocean wave, cascading over upon itself as rocks skipped down the pile to congregate at the base of the mountain. A flash of hair and a single shoulder emerged; it was scratched up and splotched with grime, but still one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen. "Ah, Master Bruce," Alfred chirped from underneath her, "good of you to come to our aid."

Bruce sighed, sagging in relief. It felt like the first breath he'd taken in hours. He reconfigured his comm to its proper frequency, asking, "Are you two alright?"

"Oh, quite alright, sir," Alfred replied jovially, seemingly unfettered by being buried in the rubble of his home. "Miss Diana has been most gracious with her time."

"I'm glad to have helped, Alfred," she chimed in, voice slightly strained, but never the less amiable.

He grimaced, glancing at the opening. He brought a hand to one of the edges and gingerly tested its stability. It crumbled beneath his palm. Damn, he was stuck up here, then. "Hold tight, I'll have you both out shortly."

"By all means, sir, take your time." He could hear the grin in Alfred's voice. Was he suffering from a head injury? "It's been some time since I've enjoyed the company of a lovely lady."

He procured a Batarang from his belt, twining the line around his hand and searching for a place to anchor it. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he groused, suddenly irritable. Did they not realize the severity of the situation?

"Indeed, Master Bruce," Alfred answered casually. He still couldn't see the man, shielded firmly beneath the Amazon's nigh-indestructible body. He supposed if there were a time that being caught in a building collapse would be worth the risk, doing so while trapped underneath Wonder Woman would be it. His already bad mood worsened. "This would be the first work break I've had in...nearly forty years, I'd dare say."

"There are easier ways to arrange for a day off, Alfred," he snapped, rummaging through the nearby pile for a piece of wood large enough to support the life-line against the crevice.

"As you say," Alfred stated, "but those ways certainly don't get the blood pumping as much." He had no idea what Alfred was trying to do – it had to be a concussion affecting him. "I do apologize for the lack of proper mental stimulation, your Highness. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Is that date for tea still good?"

His head snapped up from his jury-rigging. Date?

Alfred's reply was prim and gentlemanly as ever. "Absolutely, madam. I would never consider reneging on an agreement."

A strange, sour flavor teased the back of his tongue. How could they be taking this so...so _casually_? He wasn't certain why their nonchalance was bothering him as intensely as it was, so in common fashion, he decided to ignore it until it was necessary to worry about such trivialities like his emotional state. "Diana, can you move?"

He stared down into the darkness and watched the stones shudder as she grunted. "I can, but the rocks I move may injure Alfred."

He tugged on the thin metal cord to ensure its foundation was solid. "Alfred, do you have enough room to maneuver around Wonder Woman and grab the line?"

"And leave a lady to fend for herself?" Alfred censured as Bruce tossed the line down. "I think not."

"I'll be fine, Alfred," Diana assured warmly.

"Of course, your Highness." He saw Alfred's arms wind around the shock of thick black hair, circling the cord around his thin hands. "I simply had to offer."

She forced herself back to give him a bit more room. "And they say chivalry is dead."

"Not while Alfred Pennyworth is alive, madam."

Batman slowly began to pull the man from the confines of the rubble, Diana shifting to allow him to slide free, rocks clattering against each other. He hauled the Englishmen the fifteen feet needed to reach the opening he'd created, carefully leaning over and taking hold of his arm in an iron grip. The unstable edge of crevice cracked, raining debris into the pit as Bruce slipped his other arm beneath Alfred's, dragging him onto more stable ground. Immediately, he switched his night-vision off and let go of the butler's forearm, reaching for a pen-light. "Are you alright, Alfred?"

Proper dilation. That ruled out concussive force. Alfred smiled, blinking once the light was removed. "I assure you, sir, I've survived worse scrapes than this." He blinked again as he took in the sight of the Dark Knight in front of him. "Good lord, sir," he winced, aghast, "you look terrible."

He glanced down at himself. The suit was well and truly ruined – he was covered head to toe in soot, ash, and grime, his cape was in tatters, and there was a serviceable amount of blood seeping from the dozens of tears he'd made while digging frantically through the rubble. He looked back up at the butler, a smile inexplicably crossing his soot-covered features. Alfred was alright; everything else was secondary. "Nothing a wash and some sewing won't fix." He pursed his lips. That was the third time in two days someone had said something to that effect – maybe there _was _some merit to the complaint, after all. For Alfred's sake, he would have to get some rest after sorting all of this out. Or try to, in any case.

"Diana," Bruce started, peering into the pit a few feet away from him, "do you need any help getting – "

The sound of hundreds of stones colliding into each other echoed in the maw shortly before Wonder Woman, smeared with dirt but still as immaculate as ever, floated easily above them both. Her thick hair, slightly matted, swayed in a gentle wind as she smiled brilliantly down at them. "...Out." He unconsciously clasped Alfred's upper arm in his hand.

They were both okay. They were okay.

He schooled his features; the crisis was over, it was time to get back to business. He regarded the Amazon intensely. "What happened?"

She landed next to them both, offering a hand to Alfred, who gracefully accepted. "Have you ever heard of a group called 'the Society of Shadows'?"

He nodded; her mention of them was little surprise. "Yes – it's a syndicate of assassins and thieves, founded and lead by Ra's Al Ghul. You've run into them?"

"I did tonight. Over two dozen of them showed up in the Batcave."

His muscles went taut. Two _dozen_? How did that many intruders make their way into his lair without tripping something? The audacity of it, the sickening realization that his private world was very much vulnerable to his deadliest enemy, caused him to nearly swallow his own tongue in sheer disgust. He was getting _very _sloppy. For the first time since arriving, Bruce actually took stock of his ancestral home, now a glorified scrap heap, smoking and burning into ash. The guilt in his chest was sharp.

He rose to his feet. "We'll compare notes later." He pressed a finger to the communicator as Diana went airborne to put out the largest fire. "Batman to Watchtower. Contact the local authorities and have them arrive at Wonder Woman's location."

_"Roger, Bats," _a voice responded that was very much _not _Mr. Terrific's.

Diana floundered in the sky for a half second. "Flash? What are you doing there?"

_"Offered to give Mr. Terrific a quick break. What am I contacting the authorities for?"_

"An explosion," was the Dark Knight's informative response.

_"Alright. Hey, isn't that Wayne Manor?" _Batman very nearly dragged a hand down his blackened face. _'Subtlety, Wally – try it.'_ The voice became slightly worried as he pressed, _"Is everyone okay?"_

He glanced at them both himself, just to make sure. "Yes," he answered disapprovingly, "but we have a fire to put out."

Static. _"I'm on it. So, what's the story?"_

"Wayne was propositioned a few weeks ago by one of Ra's Al Ghul's dummy companies," he explained on the fly. "When it became apparent that his intentions were less than ethical, Wayne backed out. Ra's took that as a personal insult and vowed retribution."

_"Where do you fit in with all this?"_

"Gotham is my city," he responded coldly. That was all the reason anyone should ever need.

The speedster took the hint. _"Right. So, where's moneybags now?"_

He rattled off the lie with ease and confidence. "Wayne was quietly taken to the Watchtower for safe-keeping while Wonder Woman remained here to catch the assassins Ra's contracted."

_"Why would you offer a civilian refuge in the Watchtower instead of a safe-house on Earth?"_

He knew Flash was trying to help, but the game of Twenty Questions was getting very old, very fast. "Ra's Al Ghul heads a world-wide criminal network. A regular safe-house wouldn't have been effective." The slightest smirk twitched at his lips. He would later blame it on sleep deprivation. "Besides, Wayne has...pull with Diana."

He felt the chilling glare against the side of his head. "I beg your pardon?"

He mirrored her glare. Did she think he was going to conveniently forget why she showed up in the first place? Nevermind that she saved Alfred's life. "You offered to _help _me, remember? Why else would you get involved with one of my cases unless out of concern for Wayne?"

"It wasn't _Wayne _I was worried about," she rebuked, hovering in the air.

"Wasn't it?" he asked, a cool, promising smirk on his face.

_"Hey, hey," _Flash interrupted,_ "as fun as it is to hear you two bickering, you might wanna get ready for the cops."_ Static. _"Like, right now."_

He grimaced. Flash had a point, chagrined as he was to admit that. "Right. Two for transport. Private med-bay."

Alfred shot him a mildly reproachful look. "Sir, you don't – "

"It's done," he stated with finality.

Alfred went quiet as his communicator buzzed, _"Two for transp – hey, don't touch that!"_

"What?"

_"Sorry. Multi-tasking. Rex here wanted to send you into the sun."_

Batman's face twisted in amazement. Rex was with _Wally_? What had Holt been thinking, leaving those two alone? Come to think of it, what had _Shayera_ been thinking, leaving those two alone? "They entrusted you with their child?"

_"You're entrusting me with your life."_

His eyes flickered skyward. "Don't remind me."

_"Jeez, thanks. Transporting."_

The familiar tingle of teleportation began to wiggle through his veins as he heard Flash mutter, barely audible, _"Bats is a big ol' jerkface sometimes, isn't he?"_

He scowled. "I heard that."

The communicator abruptly went silent.

* * *

Flash frowned at the controls as he absentmindedly bounced baby Rex in his arm. Now, he normally didn't fully understand Bats' plans, but he knew that there were solid reasons for his orders. But this time, even _he_ could see the flaws in the alibi; there was no way that the cops were going to buy it wholesale. He made sure that Bats and Alfred were safely on-board the Watchtower and switched to Wonder Woman's private frequency. "Diana, I don't know about this. Are you sure Bats has the right idea?"

_"Have you ever known one of Batman's plans to fail?"_

"Well, no, but..." He rubbed the back of his tense neck. "It's just the story of an attempted assassination of a billionaire by an infamous eco-terrorist isn't exactly low key. Cops and officials are gonna be everywhere. People might...uh, _find _something."

_"Batman has his reasons, Flash,"_ she reassured him, though her tone was borderline uncertain. _"You have to trust him."_

He glanced at the image of two red blobs in the upper echelon med-bay. The single monitor linked to it showed UV, heat-signatures, and motion-sensitivity only; it was designed to preserve the identities of those recuperating in it without leaving it prey to misconduct. In that room stood one of the smartest men on Earth – a guy who could literally think circles around anybody. Still, nobody could be right forever.

_"...You're worried about him, too, aren't you?"_

He sighed, signaling the authorities to meet Wonder Woman at Wayne Manor, as requested. "Isn't everybody?"

* * *

Thirty-five miles away from Wayne Manor, nestled in the underground reservoir beneath the partially demolished Arkham Asylum building, a machine began pumping.

**_To be continued..._**


	7. 07 Ring Around the Rosie

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Dick Grayson was not Bruce Wayne; he didn't have a psychotic inclination to keep other superheros out of his city, and quite often, welcomed the chance to meet new and interesting people. It broke up the monotony of the crime-ridden rat's nest that was Bludhaven's regular night crowd. But of all the people he expected to run into, the Flash was not one of them.

The lanky red-clothed superhero had easily caught up to him on a nondescript roof on the east side, sporting three boxes of donuts and a dazzling smile. "You must be Nightwing." He shoved an entire donut into his mouth and extended a powdered hand in greeting. "Vuh mame's Fwash; mice to meech ooh."

He kept his expression carefully neutral with a lifetime's worth of discipline. _This _yutz was a founding member of the Justice League? He warily took the offered handshake, giving the speedster a once-over while wiping the powder that clung to his midnight gloves off on his leg. As he should have expected, the movement only served to smear the stuff further. He never thought he'd need a napkin in this line of work. "Uh, likewise." He jutted his jaw at the boxes balanced precariously on the other man's arm. "What's with the donuts?"

The Flash swallowed. "Peace-offering. So, what's your poison? I got powdered, sprinkles, and chocolate."

"What, no jelly-filled?"

"They were out." The superhero looked positively crestfallen.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Peace-offering, huh? At – " He checked the watch hidden under his gauntlet, " – 2:48 in the morning?" He raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. "You JLU guys must really want me to sign up if you're getting sent as an errand boy to bribe me with donuts."

The man in front of him almost looked guilty. "It's not about getting you to join the League, actually." He shifted from one foot to another apprehensively. "It's about Batman."

Dick's smile fell. He was his own man – he had bid farewell to his life in Gotham, and all the people in it, six years ago. He was thirty-one and living free; fighting crime, cleaning up Bludhaven one street at a time, and doing so _without _being bogged down by a myriad of personal issues and psychological short-comings.

So, why the hell was it that anytime something went wrong with Bruce, someone invariably looked to _him_ to fix it?

**07.  
Ring Around the Rosie  
**

Nightwing feigned indifference. Given their strained relationship, the apathy wasn't terribly hard to fake. "I'm not for hire." He procured a jumpline from a sleek, thin utility belt equipped around his waist. "And I'm not Batman's lapdog. If he wants my help, he should ask himself."

He was stopped short of leaping off when the Flash clarified, "He's not asking for help. I am."

His eyes narrowed, his position unmoved. "Because of him?"

"_For _him."

Concern, an age-old companion he thought long-suppressed, slowly wafted up from the depths of his subconscious. "He's done something stupid, hasn't he?"

Flash's face went slack in mild surprise. "I didn't know Bats _could _do something stupid."

He smiled darkly. "Oh, trust me. He may be right ninety-nine percent of the time, but the one percent of the time he's _not_..." His voice was a knife's edge. "Things go very bad, very fast."

The speedster's expression became pinched. "How bad are we talking here?"

The muscles in Nightwing's jaw rolled underneath his skin. Flash saw memories rolling just as hard and uncomfortably behind those formless white lenses of his. "Bad."

Wally grimaced with more than a bit of dread. He'd heard the rumors; everyone had. They all heard the vague stories about how the Bat's little Robin had gotten jacked up something awful in some really nasty affair that nobody ever knew the details to, and that was why nobody saw him at the Watchtower anymore _(and, kept quiet among the founders, why he left the League altogether)_. When he put in his resignation, he only gave some canned response that the League was taking too much time away from Gotham, before virtually disappearing off the face of the Earth for four years. Even now, it was hard not to feel a little slighted, but that was Bats for you. He'd go out of his way, through Hell and back, to protect someone else, but when it came to protecting himself? Nobody came within fifty yards. The guy was as stubborn as a goat.

"Well, that's why I'm here," Flash explained, his mood sobered. "I don't know what the deal is with him right now, but...well, I'm getting the feeling his situation's veering pretty sharply into One-Percentville."

Nightwing frowned. Bruce was like a black hole; no matter how far away he got, the gravitational force of his presence would always suck him back in eventually. Knowing him, the bastard probably enjoyed it in some twisted way. It wouldn't surprise him. He exhaled wearily. "On one condition."

The superhero perked up, his face alight. "Really? Name it, Nighty!"

He felt a brow quirk up of its own volition. 'Nighty'? "Yeah." Whip-fast, he snatched the box of chocolate donuts neatly sandwiched between the other two containers, stuffing it in the crook of his arm in one swift, feline movement. If he was going to put up with an agitated, cranky, and reckless Bruce, he wasn't doing it without requisite comfort food. "You owe me jelly-filled, too."

* * *

Alfred sat uneasily on the medical bed as Batman wound a thin stripe of white gauze around his head. "Sir, please, I'm – "

Master Bruce shot him a look. "I never complain this much when _you _bandage me."

"You rarely have the _capability _of complaining when I bandage you," he retorted. Exhaling in minor annoyance, he reached up and stilled the younger man's hand with one of his own. "Master Bruce, really. It's just a slight bump on the noggin. You've gotten worse simply getting out of bed."

Master Bruce stared at him, non-responsive, before he secured the remainder of the gauze with a metal strip, turning away hastily. The silence stretched on as he watched the Dark Knight's shoulders flex and roll while he toiled with replacing the items in the first aid kit. He repressed a sigh for the umpteenth time. The boy never _could _speak his mind. Granted, Alfred never did, either, but it was out of a sense of propriety. Bruce didn't because he couldn't even understand what he was feeling, let alone how to vocalize it.

Batman slid the kit into one of the stainless steel cupboards, his hand resting on the cool metal seconds after it shut. "You were going to die," he said lowly.

Alfred scoffed. "Nonsense, sir. Miss Diana was – "

Batman craned his neck, glaring over his shoulder. "Diana wasn't supposed to be there." The man returned to his previous position, contemplative. Alfred stood from the bed and stopped shortly behind his charge. "How did over two dozen men, armed with explosives, manage to infiltrate the Batcave?"

"Perhaps, sir," he supplied, "they had been given a means with which to hide themselves from your security devices."

That answer did not seem satisfactory. "If that's the case, why did Ra's send so many in, when one could have done the job just as cleanly?"

"They were a distraction."

Both men looked up to find Wonder Woman silhouetted in the doorway. She stepped through confidently as the door slid closed behind her. "A distraction?" Batman asked.

She nodded. "The man I interrogated admitted to planting twelve bombs inside the Batcave while the others busied themselves with drawing my fire." Alfred tried not to frown. Her uniform would need a good cleaning after all of this. He struggled not to extend the offer; after all, he hadn't the foggiest idea where the laundry room might be on the premises.

A hand found its way to Master Bruce's jaw, still dreadfully blackened from soot. _(He had implored him to wash up, but he would hear none of it. Obstinate man.) _"Was Ra's expecting you to be there?"

"I don't think so," she answered truthfully. "I caught a few talking about how surprised they were to see me." Unbidden, she closed the distance between herself and the two men, deep blue eyes full of compassion. "Either way, all of this can wait until morning." She laid a hand on Master Bruce's shoulder. "For now, you need to sleep."

Alfred suppressed a groan. Oh dear Lord, she did _not _just tell him what to do.

He would have said that he saw horns erupt from the Batman's head, but luckily enough for him, he already had a set spearing from the sides of it. The man callously brushed her hand off with his forearm, eyes cold. "I'll rest when I get to the bottom of this."

"That could take days," she countered, her hands falling to her hips. "Do you really think you have days left in you?"

"I have however much Gotham requires of me," Batman stated with a chilling finality.

"You won't do Gotham any good if you're dead on your feet," she rebuked sharply.

The Dark Knight nodded, sardonically responding, "Right. And while I'm up here, what will be happening down there? Who's going to investigate the machine I found underneath Arkham? Who will sift through what's left of the Batcave for evidence?"

The doors hissed open. All three pairs of eyes shot up to spy the newcomer. "You rang?" Nightwing's eyes fell upon the medical bandages wrapped around Alfred's skull and widened. He crossed the spacious room hurriedly and went to examine the butler's dressing, running gloved fingers over the gauze gingerly. "Are you alright, Alfred?"

The butler smiled, touched by the boy's concern. "Quite, sir. Master Bruce was most expedient in retrieving us from the rubble."

"Who are you?" the Amazon queried, gaze wary, if not distrusting. "This room is for authorized League personnel only."

Dick turned to the two heroes and forced a smile, offering a hand. "Oh, sorry. Dick Grayson – Nightwing." Her face brightened, just a little, and nearly crushed his hand in her iron grip. "Can you two tell me what's going on?"

"After you tell me how you got here, and why," Batman countered, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.

He took a moment to observe his former mentor's condition, and felt the cool weight of worry sink into his gut. "Bruce," he exclaimed, the harsh angles of his face softening, "you look terrible."

"My question, Dick?"

"Technically, it wasn't a question, but since you're being so _accommodating_..." He mirrored the Dark Knight's pose to the last frightening detail. "One of your League friends was nice enough to let me know that Wayne Manor was just blown up." The worry dissolved into the old, familiar bitterness. "Gotta admit, it was nice to find out that something happened _before _it hit the national news, for once."

Diana opened her mouth, brows knit in confusion. Alfred caught her gaze and pleaded with her to refrain. There were dangerous undercurrents about; as invulnerable as she might have been to physical damage, it wouldn't do to have her be emotionally struck down by the two young, stubborn, and ego-centric fools in front of them both. Not fully convinced, she never the less heeded his silent request.

The jab went unnoticed. "Who let you up here? Superman?"

"It was the Flash, actually. Gave me the codes for the room, too. He's worried about you." He glanced at the other members of their little club meeting, ignoring the surprise that flitted across the Dark Knight's gaunt face. "Looks like he isn't the only one, either."

"What do you want, Nightwing?" Batman snapped.

Back to Nightwing, now. Bruce was eager to get rid of him. "I already told you, _Batman_. What happened?"

Batman squared his shoulders, lips a thin line. "That's what I intend to figure out."

Wonder Woman's eyes sharpened. "Oh, no, you're not."

Dick's eyebrows shot up to his hairline as his opinion of the Amazon beauty sky-rocketed. Batman looked like he was about to spit tacks. That alone was worth the trip up here. "Excuse me?"

She gave him a glower that could freeze a volcano. "You're in no condition to go anywhere, and you know it."

"She's right." He might as well put in his two cents while the opportunity was there. "You look like you've been run over by a truck," he stated, quietly adding, "and then spent the next hour or two rolling around in an ashtray."

"I do apologize, sir, but I believe Master Dick and Miss Diana are correct," Alfred interjected, squashing the surge of guilt that rose unbidden. Et tu, Alfred, indeed. "A nice warm bath and a few hours of rest will do wonders for your cognitive function."

The Caped Crusader bared his teeth, tired features curled into a mixture of incredulity and utter contempt. "I don't _believe_ this," he snarled. "Ra's Al Ghul has attacked my home and threatened my city, but you three want to stand here and waste my time with an _intervention_?"

Diana rested a hand on his upper arm. Dick was quietly amazed that Batman didn't instantly remove it. Then, he was also amazed that she was even a part of this conversation. These sorts of spats were usually Batclan-only events. "We just want to make sure that you'll be alright. None of us want to see you get hurt."

"I appreciate all of you having such _faith _in me," Bruce growled acerbically, shrugging her hand off. "Now, if you're done with the character assassination, I've got work to do."

Dick maneuvered quickly and blocked the door. Bruce halted mid-step, expression explosive. "Move, Dick."

He shook his head. "No can do, Batman. If I'm counting the tally right, you've got an Amazon, a vigilante, and a butler all telling you to park your butt in bed. As far as I'm concerned, majority rules."

The shadows of the room seemed to twist around Batman, the air growing heavy and dank as his eyes, white-hot and livid, contracted to dangerous, venomous slits. A small part of Dick, the one that trained with him from childhood, wanted to turn tail and run at the sight of it. "_Move_."

"No."

Five seconds stretched on for eons while Nightwing waited his former mentor to make his move, because he certainly wasn't backing down from his position. Despite him being a manipulative, pig-headed jerk that cared more for his beloved Mission than anyone or anything else, he was still the closest thing Dick Grayson currently had to a father, and he wasn't about to let him get himself killed. If doing so required coming to blows...

Well, at least it would be wish-fulfillment. He'd always wanted to kick Batman's ass in a fight.

* * *

Bruce was absolutely _furious_.

Ra's had just tried to kill Alfred, Diana, and potentially the entire population of Gotham, and they were concerned about _him_? What kind of horrendously skewed priorities were these three living with? _This _was why he pushed those he lo – cared about away; if they weren't around, he wouldn't be tempted to save them at the cost of another. His entire reason for existence was to fight for the ones who couldn't fight for themselves. Dick, Barbara, T – Diana, Clark, Jim; they could handle themselves. He couldn't afford to feel that their lives were any more important than any civilian's on the street.

He was _fine_, damn it. Why wouldn't they listen?

"Look, we _know _you, Bruce," Dick sighed, lips twisted in irritation. "How long has it been since you've slept? Since you've eaten?"

His lack of sleep and sustenance was irrelevant. There was a crime that needed to be solved. "You're in my way."

"Tough." He could see the younger man surreptitiously slip his feet into a defensive fighting stance. Did Dick honestly think he was going to attack him? He couldn't place the emotion responsible for the momentary tightening of his chest. Never would he even _consider_–

"Every second we spend up here debating this, is a second closer Ra's gets to achieving whatever goal he's set out to do." He searched his ward's eyes for a confirmation of understanding, or any signal that this foolish stand-off would be drawing to a close. "He _needs _to be stopped."

"And he will be. But he's got to be tracked down, first." The boy reached forward and laid a strong, kind hand on his exhausted and aching shoulder. "All I'm asking, Bruce, is to let me handle that part for a couple of hours. Just two hours. If there's anything down there, you know I'll find it." Dick flashed him a grin. "I was raised by the best, remember?"

Raised.

Not trained; _raised_.

He found himself acquiescing to his ward's request with a subdued nod of his head. He heard himself tell Dick to ascertain how salvageable the Batcave was after he was done inspecting the machine underneath Arkham. He felt himself step away as a relieved Dick and Diana exited the room, the former promising to return in two hours with a status update. All of that information was filed away on auto-pilot as he fought the urge to find a shadow to hide in.

No one, ever, should have thought of him as a parent. He was a mentor, a teacher, nothing more. He taught Dick everything he knew, showed him the way of his Tibetan masters, tried to instill in him the strength and character necessary to survive in an incredibly ugly world as he reached adulthood. Deep down, he knew that was the very definition of parenting, but he couldn't bring himself to use that moniker for himself. He wasn't a father – wasn't fit to be one – because if he were, he was a miserable failure at it.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said, breaking him from his reverie, "shall I dress your wounds now?" He held up the first-aid kit he'd taken out minutes before. "Or after you bathe?"

He sighed. "After."

"Very good, sir," Alfred replied, setting the white plastic case down on the bed.

He padded to the nearby bathroom, beginning to peel off his soiled uniform as he muttered under his breath, "I told you I don't complain."

"Sir?"

"Nothing, Alfred."

The silence he received was evidence that the butler knew damn well what he had said, but was simply too polite to call him on it. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together. He stopped to examine himself in the mirror with a frown. He really _did _look terrible. Maybe an hour or two of sleep would do him good, after all. He turned on the shower's nozzle to full blast, and resigned himself to trust in his ward's abilities. After all, what could go wrong in two hours?

His overactive mind reminded him that the current situation took less than one.

He shoved his head under the scalding jet-stream of water.

* * *

Diana took stock of the vigilante to her right as they walked side by side down the hallway, heading toward the bridge. "So, Nightwing."

He inclined his head in her direction. "Yeah?"

"You were the first Robin," she declared.

He quirked an eyebrow. "How'd you know?"

They stepped onto an unoccupied elevator, the chamber filled with the quiet whirring of machinery as they were jettisoned down the station. "I saw your name engraved on the costume he has in the Batcave."

He tossed her an off-kilter glance, caught somewhere between distrust and approval. "I didn't realize Batman was taking visitors."

"He wasn't."

The pendulum began swinging towards distrust. "But you know where the Cave is."

So, Nightwing was protective of him, in spite of their apparently strained relationship. He was loyal. She liked that. "He's invited the other founders there before."

He blinked in surprise and looked askance at her, shifting his weight to his left leg. "Wow, he must really like you guys."

Her eyes hardened briefly. "It wasn't a social visit."

He sensed her lack of ease and veered back on topic, asking, "Did he invite you this time?"

"I invited myself."

Approval won out, and his lips split into a bright grin. Loyal, but not afraid to see a friend...what was the Man's World phrase? 'Stick it to him'? She liked that even more. "Gutsy. Why didn't he throw you out?"

She lifted her chin regally. "Do you think he could move me?" She stood proudly next to the Bat's surrogate son, daring him to prove her words wrong.

He lifted his chin, too, matching her stance with unerring accuracy. She couldn't help but see a bit of Bruce in him when he did that. "Batman can move _anyone,_if he really wants to."

Streaks of light danced across her aristocratic features as the elevator slid to a halt. What a dichotomous man. Clearly, he was at odds with Bruce, but regardless of his personal feelings towards him, he held absolute confidence in his mentor's abilities. He held all the knowledge and mannerisms of the Dark Knight, but still retained an inner light that was nothing short of incandescent. He repeatedly refused entry into the League, but was practically exalted among them for his skill, leadership, and cooperation whenever they needed to operate within his city.

And Diana had to admit, he _was _quite the charmer.

A small grin touched her lips as she stepped out of the cylindrical carriage. "I guess he didn't really want to, then."

* * *

Nightwing crossed the bridge with more confidence than he felt, still taking in the sheer size of the Watchtower. Wondering just how much money Bruce had to pony up to get this one funded, built, and properly manned made his head spin. He stopped at the command center, next to Mr. Terrific as he relayed transmissions across the globe for various reasons. "I need you to transport me to this location." He reached over the man's arm and tapped a console, zooming in on the old Arkham remains.

Mr. Terrific keyed the coordinates in with a sideways glance, stating, "You know, I'm technically not supposed to do this. The transporters are for authorized personnel only."

"I'm here on Batman's request," he semi-lied, leaning casually on the thin metal plating that guarded the highly sensitive controls. "I figure that's about as authorized as it gets."

The man smiled faintly, pressing another key and opened up a small drawer. "I didn't know the Flash had been reduced to an errand boy," he said, plucking a small, ovular communicator from inside of it and holding it out for Nightwing to take. "Technically, I shouldn't be giving you one of these, either, but – "

He raised a hand. "Don't need one. I can contact him if I need to."

The offer remained where it was. "That's fine, but these communicators are linked with the Watchtower's main database. If something goes wrong, we can hone in on the specific frequency in here and transport you up immediately, rather than trying to search for you." He raised one bushy black brow. "Unless you have that kind of time to spend."

He yanked the communicator from Mr. Terrific's outstretched hand, plugging it in his right ear with a small wince. "You'd think these things would be a bit more ergonomic."

"You get used to it." He shrugged, straightening and walking down the winding stairwell as Mr. Terrific continued, "This probably isn't any of my business, but I've been working with the League for almost six years, and I've never seen Batman bring in outside help before. What's going on?"

Nightwing adjusted the ear-piece, boots thudding against the luminescent blue transport pad. "You're right," he replied as the monolithic Watchtower interior disintegrated in a flash of light, "it isn't any of your business."

The dank, high-roofed reservoir swam into view, the salty-sweet odor of brackish water, moss, and mud clogging his nostrils. The area was deserted, as it was normally meant to be, save for a contraption that jutted ominously from the riverbank thirty yards in front of him. Cautiously stalking up to the device, he scanned his surroundings for any threats, noting the scuff marks in the loose dirt where there had been a struggle. Bruce's handiwork, most likely.

He slowed, procuring a flashlight from his nearly invisible belt to examine the modified purifier more closely. Rings of dust floated aimlessly through the column of light as it fell upon a hollow alcove buried beneath a web of tubes, wires, and pipes. His eyes narrowed when he spied a small puddle of purple-black muck resting at the base of the clear container. It was empty? Suspicious, Nightwing reached out a gloved hand and gingerly touched the side of the machine.

It was warm.

Alarms began blaring in his mind. Hastily, he replaced the flashlight and crossed around to the access panel built into the other side, distractedly observing the bolas he was stepping over; they were neatly severed with wire-cutters. Didn't Batman say that he subdued seven men –

A soft whistling was the only warning he received before he felt the sharp pin-prick of a dart sink into the side of his neck. "What the...?" he gasped, lurching and tugging the oblong metal dart from his skin. The world swam around him for the second time in two minutes, the dart clattering to the earth from nerveless fingers. The thick corded muscles of his legs suddenly turned to jello, and they buckled under his 190-pound bulk, a spray of dust stirring up from his unceremonious collapse.

As he felt consciousness slip through his fingers, a pair of familiar boots now coming into view, the only thing he could think of was, _'Man, not _again_.'_

**_To be continued..._**


	8. 08 Pocket Full of Posies

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

J'onn J'onzz stared at the Earth solemnly across the bridge of the Watchtower. Currently, South America peeked through the whorls of white that ghosted over the planet, still shrouded partially in darkness. The sun would soon touch its fertile lands, and with it, a new day for those inhabitants would begin. One such day was almost over in the city of Guiyang, China – his current home. The city, holding a serene, indescribable beauty that might have had something to do with his beloved wife, had long since grown dark with the terrified whispers of its people. "The sickness," they said, "it's already been seen in Nanning and parts of Hunan; it's only a matter of time before it spreads here, too."

He had been keeping a close eye on the development of this newly-dubbed 'Leopard Fever', named for the patterns of black spots that would cover the body as the disease progressed. Through surreptitiously scanning the minds of the scientists and physicians researching it, he had come to learn that they had no idea exactly _what_ it was, much less how to combat it. It held nearly all the attributes of an infectious disease, but none of its short-comings. It only transmitted through physical contact or ingestion – most victims likely absorbed the disease through the skin – but was spreading faster than an airborne pathogen. Most disturbingly, every attempt at killing the diseased cells, both common and extreme, was met with failure.

Though he by no means called Guiyang his city, he sensed the fear of the townsfolk starting to seep into his wife's demeanor. She, too, was growing restless at the invisible predator stalking its way across their land, killing its people without mercy or reprieve. Had this been any other threat, he would have gladly jumped into action, laying his immortal life on the line to protect them from such a terrible danger. However, he was learning that all his incredible powers meant absolutely nothing to a foe that fought on a material plane he simply couldn't touch.

J'onn was beginning to realize that the Justice League, responsible for repelling all manner of invasions, was helpless to combat the systematic storming of a deadly plague.

**08.  
Pocket Full of Posies  
**

The elevator doors behind him parted with a rushed exhalation of air pressure equalization. He didn't turn around. "Hello, John," he hailed, "I did not expect to see you here."

The ex-Marine grunted tiredly, marching up to lean casually upon the work-station. "I could say the same thing about you. I thought you were taking another sabbatical."

"That ended two days ago," was his calm, detached response, his green fingers splayed over the command controls. "I thought you had taken time off, as well."

John shrugged, quickly hiding the wince of pain as he did so. "I did, but I'm still a Green Lantern; still got a sector to protect and all."

"What happened?" he asked, only half-listening as he read the reports on the monitor in front of him.

Green Lantern rubbed at the tear on his right sleeve absentmindedly. "Some intergalactic warlord was looking for another planet to add to his collection. You know, the usual."

A faint smirk briefly crossed his features. If only he'd known five-hundred years ago that something like this would become the norm in his life. "Where is this warlord now?"

"I dragged his scaly butt back to Oa to face trial," John answered, rolling his head back along his shoulders with a handful of quiet _pop_s. "Man, am I exhausted. Hey, do you know if Shayera's on board?"

He nodded. "Most likely. She has spent a majority of her time floating between your quarters and the commissary." He glanced askew to the solidly-built figure beside him. "It appears your son finds looking down at the Earth soothing."

John smiled tiredly. His glowing green eyes were quietly mournful. "Yeah," he murmured, "I guess he would." He shook his head, gaze clearing. "Anyway, I'll catch you later. I've got a week's worth of shut-eye and diaper-changing to catch up on – "

Warning klaxons wailed from the control panels, several devices and buttons lighting up in distress. Conversation forgotten, both heroes turned to the holographic images that sprang up from thin air. They were staring at floor-plans that, to John, looked incredibly familiar. He furrowed his brows. "What is it?" 

J'onn's fingers flew over the keys, zooming in on a spacious room, nestled in the center of the top floor. A red dot flashed ominously on the pale-blue of the image. "The Metro Tower – the security protocols in the meeting room has been breached."

The ex-Marine's eyes widened in disbelief. "The _Metro Tower_? That place is more secure than Fort Knox; how could someone break in there?"

"I suggest we find out." One green finger slammed onto the comm button. "Watchtower to Metro Tower, do you read?" Silence. "Metro Tower, please respond."

John fisted his right hand in front of his chest, simplistic Lantern ring glowing brightly. "Guess we're doing this the old-fashioned way, then." He flew to the transporter pad, silently sending an apology to Shayera, as J'onn issued the call for reinforcements.

Three minutes later, the dull blue haze of teleportation faded, and Green Lantern, Vigilante, Shining Knight, and Stargirl all stood staring at the locked reinforced titanium doors protecting the meeting room that only the founders had access to. John motioned for the other three to get ready, willing a skin-tight protective shield around himself as they slipped into a well-practiced battle stance.

Holding his arm out, poised to strike, John barked, "Computer, open the meeting room door, priority Tango-Alpha-Victor zero-zero-four."

The computer chirped, "Priority recognized."

Before the doors had even finished rolling back, Green Lantern charged in, energy ring forming a giant rectangular shield for himself and his allies. The remaining three followed, flanking the senior League member and filing inside. There was a tense, pregnant pause as they stood among the inky blackness, preparing for any manner of assault upon themselves.

The green glow of the Lantern's ring dimmed slightly as he shifted, ordering, "Lights."

The room was engulfed with stark florescent lighting, the darkness retreating into frightened pools beneath the sparse furniture within it. The table, the chairs, the monitors – everything appeared to be in perfect shape, completely untouched. Confusedly, Lantern dropped his right arm, scanning the room with his eyes a second time as Vigilante flicked at his rawhide cap. "Well, if this here ain't a dinger."

John's hand went to his communicator. "Green Lantern to Watchtower...Watchtower, come in." Frowning, he turned to his team. "Can any of you get a signal?" Stargirl dropped her fingers to her side, shaking her head. The other two repeated the gesture. His frown deepened. "Alright, let's head to the nearest com-sat station, and try to get a steady signal to – "

"Hey, I think I found something," Stargirl interrupted him, gripping her crescent staff and floating to one of the light fixtures on the ceiling. Beckoning for Lantern with a tug of her head, she pointed at a small, black device the size of a fifty-cent piece as he flew up beside her. "Look at this. Do you think it's a bomb of some kind?"

He swept a wide green beam over the contraption, momentarily highlighting its innards. "Doesn't look like any bomb I've ever seen." He shook his head, saying, "Only one way to find out. Get back." The blonde nodded, rejoining the rest of her team. He steadied his hand, and fired a single, green streak of super-heated plasma at it.

The device sparked and melted on contact, a frenzied choir of static and voices suddenly erupting in his communicator. _" – to Green Lantern, do you read – "_

" – to Watchtower, we've got something – "

" – emergency situation at the Metro Tower – "

" – anyone hear me? Hello?"

John nearly tore the thing from his ear before it died down, all the different sources realizing that they were finally being heard and going quiet. He tugged the device from its place on the ceiling, spotting a small relief on the back of it, now partially destroyed. _"Green Lantern," _J'onn voiced, _"can you read me?"_

He grimaced, his ear still ringing. "Yeah, I read you."__

"Do you require assistance?"

"No, the situation seems to be under control," he answered, running a finger over the melted design. Why did it seem so familiar? "I think we need to have a meeting."

_"Agreed."_ He could practically hear the man nod his head. _"I'll transport you up. Vigilante, Shining Knight, Stargirl, I want you to coordinate with the technicians in the Metro Tower and comb the facility for any other devices. If they could infiltrate the founders' meeting room, they could very easily have access to the rest of the building, as well."_

"On it," Vigilante said with his trademark mid-western country lilt as the three filed out of the room, leaving John alone.

J'onn, even from a thousand miles above, seemed to sense his disquietude. _"Problems, friend?"_

"I don't know," he replied distantly, staring at the small black object in his hand. "There's a symbol on the back of this thing – it's distorted and I can't really make it out – but I _know_ I've seen it before."__

"Hmm. Describe it."

He rotated it in his fingers. "It's pretty melted, but it almost looks like a – " Words dried up in his throat. That wasn't right, he couldn't _possibly_ –

_"What is it?"_ J'onn asked tensely.

"We need to hold a founders meeting," he ordered. "_Now_." 

* * *

Bruce exited the Batmobile, his jaw set in a mixture of agony and rage. The Cave was frightfully silent now that Tim had been given a large dose of Lorazepam, but the screams and wails of the sixteen year old were still echoing in his mind. He suspected they would for decades, the same way the sound of a bullet being chambered did. But he couldn't think about that now. He still had to get rid of the evidence.

Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage wrapped around his tattered knee in thick, dark globs as he hobbled like an old man to the nearest medical table. He felt the uncomfortable stickiness of the blood vacantly, catching on the rim of his leather boot and oozing down both the outside and inside of it; it plastered the Nomex-weave lining to the suit, and the suit to his skin. Not like it mattered – the suit was contaminated with DNA and soil samples; the entire thing would have to be incinerated, and its ashes dispersed in the ravine below. Similar would have to be done with the Batmobile – he couldn't allow the murder to be traced back to them. He would not allow Tim to suffer anymore than he already had.

He calmly set the first aid kit on the counter, placing the contents relevant to his injury on the steel tabletop. Antiseptic, needle, thread, gauze, medical tape, flexible wrapping to limit movement. He had to admit, it had been a couple of years since he'd needed to stitch a wound as deep as this one; the damage was extensive enough that he wasn't certain if he could fully suture it or not. Never the less, Alfred and Barbara had their hands full. And so did he, really. The Joker's body was hidden well enough for now, but decomposition would set in soon, and should any unlucky soul ever chance upon him, every sordid detail would come to light. No, he would have to return later and find a more _secluded_ resting place for him.

A small, shrieking part of him – still bloodthirsty, still reeling from the shock and horror of the past three weeks – wanted nothing more than to pike that sick son of a bitch on top of Gotham PD Headquarters and just _watch_ the Hell that would follow.

He slid onto the medical table, resting his left leg straight as he ripped the shredded cloth of his pant leg to provide better access to the wound. Twisting behind him, he grabbed a large piece of gauze and took to staunching the blood-flow as best as he could while threading the curved needle to prepare for the suturing. It took him three tries. He would have to come up with an alibi for Wayne and the others; Tim's condition couldn't be treated by Leslie alone – she'd have his head on a platter if he tried. It had to be something suitably traumatic to invoke the kind of mental scarring he'd lived through. Car accident while on vacation, maybe? Head trauma, shock, seeing those he cared for in bad straights could theoretically be enough to cause severe mental injury to a teen.

He remained absolutely silent as he slid the needle through his skin, over and over, dabbing and catching the blood with an ever-increasing pile of used wads of gauze. An idea like that could work, but only if people didn't ask questions. The alibi was fairly flimsy – paper-thin, in his book – and definitely wouldn't hold up to scrutiny. He would have to keep the whole thing as quiet as humanly possible; the fewer prying eyes, the better. But, there was the matter of police interference. Even something as innocuous as a car accident required a token police report, and any wet-eared rookie could take one look at Tim and figure out that no crash was responsible for his condition. He would have to tell Gordon, enlist his aid, somehow. Otherwise, they were all up the river.

His gaze fell onto his gloves, caked brown with the now oxidized residue of blood and gore, onto his chest, torn open by a knife he should have seen – _why didn't he see it why didn't he check Arkham sooner why didn't he ask for help why didn't _– and his stomach suddenly lurched. The needle and small glass vial of iodine clattered harshly against the stainless steel as he unsteadily bounded for a nearby wastebasket. Stumbling to his knees, the left bursting open with dark red fury, he barely had time to clutch the cylindrical can before he expelled the meager sum of food he'd eaten the day before into it. He remained that way long after his stomach was empty; hunched, gagging helplessly over a trash-can that reeked of a sharp-sour scent. Every muscle in his body seized, eyes stinging with reflexive tears, his face and neck burning, as his stomach tried fruitlessly to purge the pain, the _wrongness_, from his system.

He was a murderer.

It didn't matter if he didn't pull the trigger, _he_ was directly responsible for all of it, _he_ was the one that failed to stop Tim, _he_ was the one disposing of all the evidence – _him_, all him.

"Master Bruce." A hand rested upon the crown of his head as another tugged the wastebin away with a hollow metal _clink_. Gasping, his throat on fire and being able to smell and taste nothing but bile, he allowed the hands to remove his mask and cape; unable to bear taking his eyes off the dirty floor. His faithful servant, his closest confidant, gently lifted Bruce's right arm and slung it like dead weight over his much thinner shoulders, winding an arm across his aching back to support his weight. "Master Bruce." The butler's voice was tired. He had a right to be – cleaning up his messes; who was he to bring all of this madness upon such a good man?

Delirious from shock, blood-loss, and exhaustion, he tightly squeezed the elder man's shoulder, simultaneously warning him to leave for his own safety and begging him to stay. In response to his desperate movement, the ever-mannerly Englishman allowed the rarest slip in propriety, when he felt the hand on his back slide up to briefly stroke the back of his head. It felt like a benediction.

He finally gathered the strength of will, siphoning it from the palm brushing against the back of his neck, and turned his gaze upward...

"Master Bruce?"

...And opened his eyes.

Bruce blinked blearily, sluggishly reacquainting himself with the world of the living as he focused on the concerned face of Alfred Pennyworth leaning over him. "I'm terribly sorry to wake you, sir," he apologized, "but, well, it seems that while waiting for Master Dick's return, I – I must have dozed off, and..."

Bruce's gaze sharpened abruptly, spotting the clock on the far wall. "7:30?" Nightwing was late. He swung his legs over the bed in his private quarters – he supposed Clark was too sentimental to bother changing the passcode to it – and ran a hand down his face quickly.

The butler nodded solemnly. "Yes, I'm afraid so, sir."

He immediately pressed a finger to the communicator. "Batman to Nightwing." No response. "Batman to Nightwing."

Alfred sighed solemnly, stepping back as Bruce stood. "I do apologize in the lapse, sir – ordinarily I'm up and about by five o'clock – "

He placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder. He wanted to smile at him, but couldn't find the means to. "It's alright, Alfred." He marched over to a compartment hidden within the wall, pulling out a fresh Batsuit and slipped into a nearby changing room. "If anyone needed the rest, it's you." He emerged from the small chamber thirty seconds later, fully clothed and adjusting his gauntlets. "I'll find him."

He headed to the door and had a hand poised over the lock button when they slid back of their own accord. His head snapped up, whip fast, to face the looming figure of Superman, arms folded over his broad chest. "So, does this mean you took up my offer?"

Batman glowered darkly. "Get out of my way."

Superman shook his head. "We need to talk."

He was getting really sick and tired of people arguing with him. He leaned forward, angling his head up to get right in the Boyscout's smug face. He was far beyond the point of not being in the mood for this. "I need to get down to the surface, _now_."

"Board meetings can wait – "

"Nightwing may be in danger," he snapped, gritting his teeth. "He was supposed to report in over two hours ago."

Superman's brows furrowed as he processed this information. "Do you need any – "

"No."

"_Bruce_," Kent warned sternly.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. He wished that he still carried around that chunk of Kryptonite, but he'd had it destroyed after their encounter with the Brainiac-Luthor hybrid in a show of hard-won trust for the Man of Steel. Granted, he still had a small sliver of it carefully tucked away in a secret, lead-lined compartment of the Batcave, but what Kent didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"I don't want anyone getting hurt," Superman said, his pinched expression silently adding, _'Not like last time.'_

His hands balled into tight fists, leather creaking in protest. Dick was not Tim; Ra's Al Ghul was not the Joker. The situations were nothing similar. "Then you need to move."

The man in front of him stubbornly stood his ground.

"Clark, _please_."

That caught Superman off guard, his strong features falling in surprise. Dick's life was in danger; he could take the momentary hit to his pride if it got this self-righteous _idiot_ out of his hair. _'That's right, Kent – I'm pleading. Satisfied?'_

Clark wavered, arms falling to his sides. "Promise me that you'll contact us when you find him."

He nodded distractedly. "You have my word, now _move_."

Superman exhaled tiredly, and barely had time to step aside before he brushed past them and stalked down the hall, cape billowing ominously behind him. "Batman, one more thing."

The Dark Knight didn't bother turning or slowing his pace, instead flicking his communicator to Superman's channel. If it was important, then Kent would continue without prompting. True to form, the familiar baritone rang in his ears, _"The founders' meeting room in the Metro Tower was infiltrated a half hour ago. There was no evidence of illegal entry or exit, but they still managed to install a highly sophisticated frequency jammer before virtually disappearing."_

Curiosity piqued, he answered, "Was the device black and the size of a half-dollar?"__

"You've seen it before?"

He made a note to analyze the device he still held in his belt once he got Nightwing back safely. "I ran into something like that last night. Ra's Al Ghul used it." His mind whirred in thought; the thought sickened him, but it was reasonable that Ra's henchmen would find their way into the Batcave undetected. But the top floor of the Metro Tower?

_"Ra's Al Ghul, huh?"_ He didn't like the tone in Superman's voice. _"Would he have any reason to frame you?"_

"_Frame_ me?" he repeated. "For what?"__

"The device we found? It had a Bat-symbol on the back of it."

His finger paused for a second over the elevator keypad, trying to convince himself that he didn't feel the slightest bit betrayed by their lack of trust in him. "And you think _I_ did it."__

"Well, no, of course not, it's just – "

He pursed his lips in thought, setting aside the roundabout accusation for the moment. "It was a message."__

"To you."

"To _all_ of us – that he can reach us anywhere," he stated. "Only the founders know that I resigned – everyone else has been lead to believe I'm working strictly behind the scenes now."

He could practically feel Superman's confusion on the other end. _"So why your symbol, then?"_

"To sow distrust."__

"Distrust towards you?"

"It worked, didn't it?" He tried not to sound bitter. The attempt failed miserably.__

"Batman, we didn't think – "

"Forget it," Batman scoffed in disgust. His excuses were meaningless and insulting. "The important thing is that Ra's couldn't have come up with that sort of technology himself. I suggest you start doing some research on leading communication outlets to see which one has been leaking specs to the Black Market. Once you find that, you can narrow down his movements and predict where he'll hit next."__

"You think he'll try again?"

"Wouldn't you?" he asked. "The break-in at the Metro Tower was a show of force. He knows he can bypass our security, now, so he'll feel confident enough to continue with whatever scheme he's cooked up."

He entered the bridge with the air of self-assured purpose, ignoring the looks of shock he got from several techs as he passed them. After all, his quitting was one of the League's best-kept secrets. He knew there were potential criminal syndicates that remained small-time specifically because they feared the Bat's watchful eyes. If nothing else, that would be his legacy. "By the way," he added shortly before he stopped at the Monitor Womb, "don't get used to this. The answer is still 'no'. Batman out."

The faceless Question, positioned at the control hub, peered up at him. "And here I was led to believe that the Illuminati had silenced you."

_'No, just a clown,' _he commented silently. "Find Nightwing's location."

"Nightwing," the half-crazed detective muttered as he complied, "Nightwing, the vigilante from Bludhaven. Your first star pupil."

He ground his molars. Vic Sage was a brilliant man – in some cases, far too brilliant, if his perchance for conspiracy theories was to be believed. Still, the man had his heart in the right place, and his dogged pursuit of justice was what led Batman to bring his name up for recruitment in spite of his...stranger attributes. But right now, he just didn't want to hear it. "Can you find his communicator frequency or not?"

The Question hadn't been expecting an answer, truthfully, but the reactions themselves were more telling than the words people often spewed forth. "Got it."

"Transport me there." The footfalls of his steel-lined, custom-tailored combat boots were silent as he trod onto the plasti-steel teleporter pad. Batman nodded.

Seconds later, he remolecularized in Arkham Cavern, dropping into a defensive stance with a Batarang primed to fly. Scanning the area, his eyes befell the modified purifier and a humanoid shadow pooled into a heap at the base of it. "Nightwing!" he called out, the dusty pathway smoking behind him as he darted over, kneeling over the prone figure. Reaching out with his right hand, he carefully placed his fore and middle fingers against Nightwing's neck, counting the heartbeats against his own. _(He didn't acknowledge the surge of relief that washed over him.)_ Pulse was steady, that was a good sign.

As if hearing his thoughts, Nightwing groaned miserably, limbs moving lethargically to right himself. Batman replaced the Batarang, clasping his shoulders to help steady him as he sat up. "Easy. Are you okay?"

Nightwing ran a dirt-covered hand down his gaunt face, stopping to massage the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I'm... What time is it?"

"7:36."

"Oops." He shook his head. "Wow, whatever it was they pumped me with was a doozy."

Batman frowned. "'They'?"

Nightwing hummed in pain, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks. "Figured it was easier to say than, 'He, she, or it.'"

Bruce took the fallen silver dart between his fingers and examined it closely. "So, you didn't see who fired at you?"

"Well, I saw their boots, right before I passed out face down in the dirt," Dick offered with a halfhearted shrug. "Does that help?"

"No."

"Y'know, I hear they sell senses of humor for cheap down at the local discount store," he drawled as he cracked his neck.

The corner of Batman's mouth curled up against his wishes. He stood, towering over the lean vigilante and offered one large, thick hand. "Are you coming?"

Nightwing took the proffered grip and hauled himself to his feet. "Yeah, yeah." He gestured with his head toward the silent machine next to them. "You might wanna take a look at this." Batman glided next to him, leaning over his shoulder like a bird of prey sizing up its next meal. He tapped the small antechamber with a knuckle. "See that gunk in there?"

The Dark Knight's pivoted his head to get a better angle of both Dick and the machine. "It was like this when you found it?"

"Yeah, but I don't think it started like this. The machine was _warm_ when I got here." He nodded at the muck puddled at the base of the container. "Which means that whatever _that_ is..."

"...Is now in Gotham's water supply," Batman finished ominously.

**_To be continued..._**


	9. 09 Ashes, Ashes

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

The shrill ring of a cell phone stirred James Gordon from a deep, peaceful slumber. He had always kept strange hours – and stranger company – while working as the Commissioner of Gotham City's Police Department, but since his retirement, his life had settled into something of a routine. He would wake at around 8 AM, he would take a shower, and afterward, he would sit down at the breakfast table with a black coffee and the morning paper. The day would pass slowly, as they always did, because there was no rush to go from one place to another, no crimes to solve, no disasters to mitigate. There were times he missed the action.

Then he would read the headline of the day and immediately renege the thought.

Jim shook awake abruptly, hand reaching for the object of the infernal noise, fumbling as his eyelids refused to cooperate and stayed closed. "Gordon here," he grumbled, habit taking over while his brain wasn't up to task.

_"Don't go anywhere near the water."_

His eyes opened wide, brain kick-starting into action. He hadn't heard _that_voice since shortly after his wife's funeral, over two years ago. "Batman?"

_"Have you or Barbara come in contact with any tap water in the past six hours?" _he asked urgently.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with an arthritic hand. "Barbara's out of town until tomorrow, and as for me, well, I'm still in my pajamas." He glanced at the clock; red digital letters scrawled out _7:39_.

There was the briefest of embarrassed pauses. _"Sorry to wake you, Jim,"_ Batman apologized, _"but there's a situation. Gotham's water supply has been contaminated."_

He could've laughed. He hadn't even gotten out of bed yet, and it was already one of those days.

**09.  
Ashes, Ashes  
**

"Contaminated? With what?"

_"I don't know yet," _the Dark Knight responded, _"but the order for it was given by Ra's Al Ghul."_

He stared at the receiver like it had transformed into a snake. "The eco-terrorist?" he questioned as he brought the phone back to his ear. "What's _his _stake in all of this?"

_"Not sure of _that_ yet, either," _Batman answered, sounding frustrated – though he doubted anyone else would've noticed the change in tone, _"but I'll find out soon enough. Do you have a pen and paper handy? I've got some coordinates to give you."_

"Yeah, just a sec," he muttered, flinging the thin cotton sheet from his legs and fumbling with the drawer next to the bed. "But why are you telling _me _all this? I have no authority in the department, anymore – the best I can do is pass the information along."

_"And that's exactly what I want you to do. Commissioner Loeb may take it better from you."_

Jim frowned. He knew of Loeb's stance on the Caped Crusader and how strongly he was pushing to drive the vigilante out of town. If only that small-minded prick knew just how much Batman had given for this city... "He doesn't like late-night visitors?"

Batman's voice was oddly neutral as he stated, _"The last time I tried to warn him of a city-wide threat, he shot me."_

Jim nearly dropped the phone. "_Shot _you? As in – "

_"With a gun." _ Another quick pause. _"We can reminisce later; right now, we're short on time. Do you have that paper?"_

He fiddled with the pen in his hand. "Got it. Where am I sending SWAT?"

He could hear the grim smirk in his friend's gravelly baritone as he replied, _"Just like old times, huh, Jim?"_

Gordon grunted. Guess he didn't need to read the paper today. "Don't remind me."

* * *

Batman closed the link with a tap of his index finger, turning to Nightwing. "Gordon's been informed. Do you have the sample?"

Nightwing carefully screwed the vial filled with purple-black goop shut and flicked it with a finger. "Yup! Let's roll, partner."

Just like old times, indeed. He motioned to the thin glass container. "Head to the Watchtower, analyze the toxin, and cross-reference it against all known pathogens."

Dick nodded. "And where are you going?"

His turned away, eying Nightwing over one finely-toned shoulder. "Ra's tailored this entire scheme with me in mind. I doubt the Manor was the only decoy trap he set. He might have left a clue." He tapped his ear, starting off toward the surface. "I'll be in touch. Call me when you find something." He rounded the corner, climbing the winding stairwell swiftly as he switched communication frequencies. "Superman, I've found him."

There was silence for three seconds before Superman asked, _"Is he alright?"_

"He's fine," he replied, vaulting over a fallen supply shelf that blocked his way out of the basement. He took a cursory inspection of the room as he sped through it – someone had fought here recently.

The Man of Steel sighed in relief over the line. His personal concern was equal parts touching and irritating. "_That's good. How about you?"_

The scales tipped in irritation's favor. "Don't worry about me."

_"It's pretty hard not to when – oh, thanks Lois."_

He raced down the demolished hallway, the air stale and decaying in spite of the roof being missing. This pestilence of a facility would remain a blight on the land for the rest of time. "You're at work?"

_"Well, it _is_ Friday, Mr. Wayne._" Bruce grit his teeth, irritation pooling with frustration to create a molitov cocktail of rage that only Clark Kent could ever coax from him. _"Anyway, sorry for the interruption, I can tell you're busy. Should I call back at a better time?"_

Nearly a hundred miles away, the mild-mannered reporter in question sat at his desk with his cell phone against his ear, cleverly masking his conversation with a clearly-annoyed Batman to the world. Clark, for one, wasn't really sure why Bruce was being so untenable – _he_ was the one that called. The Dark Knight growled into his ear, _"Don't bother; I'll call you."_

He pushed the rim of his wire-framed glasses up to the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. "Alright, thanks again, Mr. Way – "

_Click._

Clark pulled the cell phone away from his ear and gave it a dour, withering stare. That man... Lois, at the adjacent desk, caught his gaze and quirked an eyebrow in silent question. He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "Guess he really _was _busy."

* * *

The Batmobile purred as Bruce tapped the break, parking the sleek black vehicle in a secluded knoll near the roadside entrance to the Batcave. Suspecting that the entryway was going to be destroyed, he loosed a grapple and sailed to the top of the jagged cliff, cape pooling around him as he landed. Ensuring that the area was deserted, Batman stole to an upper entry of the Cave that no one else had ever learned of. Kneeling at the opening, he took the remainder of his acid container and poured it over the titanium-alloy grate he'd installed shortly after he became Batman, the metal bars bubbling and hissing as it liquefied. Shifting his weight to one leg, he kicked the loosened square free, listening as it fell silently for a full ten seconds before it rattled sharply against stone. Evidently, the Cave wasn't as fully demolished as he'd initially feared; that was a good sign. Tying a line to the remainder of the grate, he pulled on the wire once to test its strength, before he slid himself into the opening and slowly rappelled down.

Carefully, he planted his feet on the ground where only the faintest of light streamed down, one hand still gripping the rope tightly in his hand while the other pulled out a high-powered flashlight. Running the light along the ground, he spied the grate lying tilted against the dank cave wall; the hollowed and cramped corridor to the Batcave was in front of it. He gave the rope one more cursory tug, then left it and hunched his upper body down to fit through the tight space.

The passage felt far longer than it actually was. He must have been leaner back then; he didn't recall jagged rock brushing painfully against his shoulders and upper back like this. It widened mercifully and he rose to his full height, a pair of agitated bats whizzed past between his pointed ears, sailing up into the cacophony of frightened warbles and squeaks. He hadn't even thought about _them_– just like always, these creatures understood his plight only too well. He shook his head and moved on, winding through the thin and uneven path until he came to a stairwell terraformed into the rockface. Setting the light to shine directly in front of him, he briskly climbed the stairs.

It had been twenty-five years since he'd last stepped foot in this section of the Cave. Bruce, at the time, wasn't concerned with his Mission, so much as where the sudden swarm of bats had come from, shortly after proposing to Andrea. He later learned that this particular species was extremely territorial, but the beady-eyed creatures remained deathly still while he spelunked into their nest. He'd spent hours down here without realizing, or frankly caring – he was strangely fascinated by the expanse of the cold cavern that seemed to stretch on in both directions forever. At the time, he wondered why he felt so at ease while being engulfed in darkness. If only he'd known.

His only warning of danger was a rumbling roar of stone tearing apart shortly before the steps crumbled beneath his treads. With a startled cry, he reached for the railing as his flashlight went skipping down into the abyss, along with a sizable portion of the stairwell. Struggling to find footing, he powered on his built-in night vision goggles – which, unfortunately, offered him very little in the way of help. He was left staring at a haze of barely distinguishable green, but he none the less managed to secure the ball of one foot against a small outcrop, lessening the load on his awkward grip. Staring up into the void, he searched for a particular point to latch his grappling hook onto. He thought he spotted a suitable candidate – it looked sturdy enough – but wasn't certain it would hold, if the fiasco with the stairway was anything to go by. Scanning the darkness again, he found his landing point, should he not plummet to his unceremonious death.

Batman steadied his right arm and muttered to himself, "Only one way to find out."

His aim was true, the serrated arrow-head slamming into the rock with a tinny _clank_. The air, stale and humid, rushed past him as the pneumatic grappling hook reeled him to the pointed rock formation high above. Swinging his legs forward, he clicked the line release button and felt gravity take hold of him as he careened toward the last intact section of stairs. The Dark Knight landed roughly against the semi-destroyed bottom step, a portion of it giving out under his weight. He stopped himself short of skidding off the edge with a grunt, retractable claws out and digging into the stone in a veritable death grip as he hoisted the rest of his body onto solid ground.

He was getting too old for this.

He tested the half-demolished step with a tap of his boot before he rose to his feet. Grabbing the thin metal railing, he continued up the remainder of the stairway, until it leveled off to the Batcave proper. A faint blue glow emanated in the distance, the pungent, acrid scent of smoke and chemicals burning his nose and throat. Coughing, he procured a gas mask and hastily slipped it over his face, inhaling and exhaling deeply through the filters to rid the noxious fumes from his inflamed lungs. He switched off his night vision and tentatively strode through his ruined trophy hall, sliding around and climbing over the giant chunks of rock that littered the ground. Despite himself, he wondered how long it would take to restore the Cave once Ra's was in custody and Gotham was safe again – months? Years? Many of the gadgets he'd confiscated were one-of-a-kind – irreplaceable. Some of the owners were dead and gone; others had reformed and moved on to lead normal lives.

Others still were working hard to replace the old guard, toiling to earn a name for themselves in the underworld as this codename or that. Truthfully, they were all beginning to blend together. All of these people, hurting others, lashing out at them – all of them tortured, disturbed, looking for something they could never find in the doldrums of everyday society. They turned to crime because it offered them a way out, a freedom, a means to survive where they previously felt they had none. It was becoming increasingly difficult to empathize with them. His heart grew a little harder, a little colder, every time he offered his hand – his time, his resources, his kindness and forgiveness, if he could truly reach them – only to have it spat upon and used against him. In a perfect world, Bruce didn't want to see anyone, anywhere, suffer alone.

His boot nudged the remains of the Freeze gun. He reached down and plucked it from the grimy cavern floor, staring dully at its highly polished surface.

Unfortunately, the world was very far from perfect.

A sound of a rock clunking against the floor caught his attention; the gun fell to the ground unnoticed as he readied a Batarang. A slender figure rounded a fallen stalactite, a gun gleaming softly in their grip. Oh, no – no one else was perusing _his_home, not on his watch. Batman sprung into action, the Batarang connecting with the assailant's outstretched hand. The silhouette gasped in pain, foolishly watching the weapon fly end over end into one of the puddles of darkness. He pressed the advantage, lunging forward and slamming them into the ground with a breathy rush of lost air. Glowing eyes slit angrily, he forcibly shoved the intruder onto their back, pinning them to the ground with solid muscle and a grip of cast iron.

The person gaped up at him, startled, but neither surprised nor terrified. Given who was he was holding down, he supposed her reaction only made sense. Talia smiled thinly. "Hello, beloved."

* * *

Lois Lane flicked her wrist and checked the time; ten minutes to 9 o'clock. She sighed blandly, going back to proof-reading her article while lamenting how slowly the day was passing. She'd already questioned the police officials on the scene of the Wayne Manor explosion, hoping to snag a good front-page article while trying to eschew enough of the controversy away from Bruce that his secret wouldn't be exposed – and doing so without making it look like she was pulling her punches. A soft Lois Lane story would only entice her more ambitious and sharp-elbowed colleagues to go snooping for themselves. She knew Bruce could more than fend for himself – and she wasn't above letting the lout do just that if he decided to be an ass about it – but having a friend in your corner never hurt.

Besides, she felt she owed him.

She ran a finger absentmindedly over the thin gold chain of her watch. When Clark told her that he'd been courting her as Superman while silently working side-by-side with her – for _years_ – she'd slapped him, then removed his glasses and slapped him again, just to make sure she got them both. Supe – Cla – _whoever _he was had apologized profusely and promised to make it up to her, saying that he'd wanted to tell since he watched her cry at his – Clark's – funeral, but was afraid of what she might think.

She'd balked. "What I might think? Of _what_?"

Clark's face – _Superman's _face – had been uncharacteristically meek. With the glasses, she could've taken the expression in stride; without them, she simply couldn't wrap her head around it. His sterling blue eyes were sullen as he'd answered hesitantly, "Of being in love with some small town Kansas boy." He shrugged. "That you always tease."

Lois Lane, daughter of an army general, tough-as-nails modern woman that took absolutely zero crap from anyone or anything, had felt her heart melt like warm butter in her chest.

A smile had dangled from her lips as she stood on her tiptoes, staring into his eyes. "Don't be so self-conscious, Smallville. If I didn't like what I saw..." She carefully replaced his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with a finger, the way she'd seen him do a thousand times before. "I'd tell you."

Then she kissed him.

It had been strange for the first two seconds, feeling the wire-rims underneath her fingers as her hands roamed over the immaculate, chiseled planes of his face – knowing that the doting Kansas boy she called her best friend, her most trusted companion, was also the gold-hearted hero that risked his life for strangers everyday. It had been even stranger to realize, with a sudden flash of understanding, that she was hopelessly in love with them both, and that she could no longer imagine them as separate individuals. They were two halves of the same whole – the same amazing, klutzy, selfless, strong, compassionate, forthright, and loving man that she was _so proud _to know.

When they'd parted, she gave the tip of his nose a chaste peck, smirking. "Though, if you really _do _want to make it up to me, Clark..."

His deep blue eyes were glazed over as he panted lightly. She couldn't _believe_ he was out of breath – he was _Superman_, for Christ's sake. "Sure."

"Dinner. Tomorrow night at La Buchelle's. As yourself." Her grin widened a touch. "And you're paying."

Their dinner was fabulous and his gift, a gold watch, was as beautiful as it was extravagant – _too _extravagant for a man of Clark's pay-grade. She'd done some snooping, as it was her ply and trade of choice, and learned of a desperate call to one very rich Bruce Wayne. When she questioned him about it, he politely denied any involvement, other than, "Trying to calm the babbling idiot down before he gave himself a stroke."

"That 'babbling idiot' is my boyfriend," Lois had snapped, her instinct to protect the honor of the dopey little farm boy bubbling to the surface, in spite of her knowledge that said dopey little farm boy could _snap Batman in half_. It was the principle of the thing, really.

"No accounting for taste, I see," he'd retorted, an odd gleam in his eye.

A hand curled into a fist, ready to sock him right in his arrogant, broody, paranoid-schizophrenic face, before recognition clicked in her head.

Bruce was teasing her.

Batman – the goddamn _Batman_! – was _teasing _her.

She settled for punching him in the shoulder and thanking him for helping Clark in his time of need. Bruce, in return, merely rolled the joint once for effect and muttered, "Not bad." His gaze was alight with a subdued warmth as he shook her hand and escorted her to her car. He appeared...genuinely _happy _for her – for them both.

A week later, he fell off the face of the Earth.

Three weeks after that, a shell-shocked and ashen-faced Bruce Wayne reappeared, informing the public that his adopted sixteen year old son, Timothy, had been abducted and brutalized in a bid for ransom money. He'd given her the world-exclusive interview – to date, the only interview he'd ever held on the subject – and shakily recounted the twenty-day long ordeal. Her heart, tough as it may have been, broke for him; she knew that the tears he'd been blinking back during their short conversation weren't fake.

When they'd finished, she shut off her recorder and laid a hand on his arm. "Off the record, Bruce," she asked tentatively, "what _really _happened?"

He looked down at her. His blue eyes were so dull. "Don't ask me that, Lois," he said with a tone that would have sounded neutral, if it hadn't been laced with so much misery. "Don't _ever _ask me that."

Lois never asked again. Lois also never saw him again.

She wondered what he was involved in this time to get his home blown to pieces. Whatever it was, she just hoped he came out of it in one piece.

"Lois?" Her head darted up to see Clark staring at her, slightly concerned. "You okay?"

She forced an impish grin. "Of course, Smallville! Why wouldn't I be?"

He gave her that, 'I can hear your heart-rate and I know you're lying' look. "Well, for starters," he responded blandly, "you're rubbing your watch like you think there's a genie stuffed in there."

Her expression became exasperated, scoffing and resuming her proof-reading. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm just finishing up this article on the Wayne Manor explosion, and I couldn't help but wonder..."

"...How such a flake like him didn't manage to do it years before?" he supplied with raised eyebrows.

She almost blushed. If she didn't know Bruce's secret, that's exactly what she would've thought. "Something like that, yeah." She grimaced. "Does 'perpetual' have one T or two?"

"One, Lois."

She hastily corrected the error. "I just get the feeling there's more to this fire than meets the eye." Lois gazed at Clark evenly. "I mean, you know the World's Richest Slacker better than I do – did he get himself involved in something?"

Clark's expression fell in vaguely defined sadness. Her reporter instincts piqued up. Oh, there was _definitely _something going on, then. "Doesn't he always?"

"Alright, everyone," Perry's voice boomed over the newsroom, the chatter and noise dying down to hear him. "We've got some sort of big chemical spill in Gotham's waters – front-page disaster headline, who – "

The din drowned out the rest of his words as dozens of reporters jumped up and clamored for the glory. Clark's body language shifted imperceptibly, straightening in his chair. "Chemical spill?"

"Where do you think..." Lois and Clark's eyes met, violet against azure, a secret message passing between them. She smiled wanly at her husband. "Gotta go?"

Clark nodded. "I'll meet you there."

"Sure you will, Smallville," she answered as she rose from her seat to claim her place on the front page, as always, "but _I'm _getting the byline!"

* * *

_"A chemical spill?" _Jim Gordon yelled over the phone. _"You told the public it was a _chemical spill_?"_

Commissioner Harold Loeb rubbed his temples wearily. He'd never really liked Gordon that much. Oh, he got where the man was coming from, but his years in retirement must have softened his mind. He wasn't going to send the populace into a panic when they didn't have the facts. "What was I supposed to tell them? We don't know what that mess SWAT uncovered even _is_, much less if it's toxic or not."

_"Batman said – "_

Ah, yes, his pet Bat. Another reason Loeb didn't really like Gordon that much. Shortly before his retirement became official, he'd taken Harold aside and made the cryptic statement, "Sometimes, the long arm of the law just isn't long enough."

"Then you're not doing your job," he'd replied before storming out to pack his belongings. Gordon had relied on a vigilante to do all his legwork, reaping all the rewards for lowering the crime-rate when it was some revenge-crazed lunatic running amok that did it for him. That hypocrite.

"Batman didn't know what it was, either," he reminded his former boss tartly. "And this Raz Algool – "

_"Ra's Al Ghul – "_

"Whatever it is," he said, "the guy's a myth. A boogeyman."

_"You'd be surprised at just how many boogeymen exist in the world, Loeb,"_ Gordon answered, his tone sharp, _"when you try pulling your head out of your ass long enough to bother looking!"_

Yeah, they didn't get along. At all.

Good thing the Mayor was on his side. "I appreciate the procedural critique, Jim," he replied, a scaly grin on his face that did not reach his eyes, "but I'm handling this the way it _needs _to be handled. No two-bit nutjob in a cape and mask is going to call the shots in my city while I'm in charge."

_"_Your_ city?"_ Jim queried. _"He says the same thing, you know."_

Harold snarled. That bastard.

_"Keep in touch, Loeb."_

He hung up roughly. "Keep in touch," he huffed, drumming his fingers against the cradle of the phone as he looked at preliminary reports of the substance they found. If follow-up tests confirmed that it was toxic, he could be in for the most epic shitstorm of all time.

He wadded the paper up and hurled it into a wastebasket. "Keep in touch. I'll get right on that."

* * *

Batman didn't move or loosen his grip. "Running errands for your father, Talia?"

"No, beloved, I came here to help you," she denied, her accent thinner than he remembered hearing last.

The Dark Knight hands remained locked on her elbows. "You've said that before," he stated, baritone harsh and disbelieving. "Why are you here?"

Her features, angular and aristocratic, ticked in grief. "I came to warn you of my father's plan, but I was...delayed." Her pale blue eyes fell upon a fallen rock inches from her head, filled with sorrow and uncertainty. "I see now that I was too late to stop him."

Wary, he slid away from her, kneeling at her side as she rose to a sitting position, rubbing the inside of her elbows. "Stop him from doing this?"

Her alto was shameful. "No, from releasing the plague into your city."

Lightning shot up his spine, and he found his hands clamping on the sides of her arms like a vice. "_Plague_?" he hissed, eyes wide and teeth bared. "You mean you introduced a _disease _into my city?"

"No, beloved, it was not me!" She shook her head emphatically, peering into his lenses with a stark desperation. "You _must_ believe me – I _did not _know what my father was planning to do! If I had, I would have aided you sooner!"

He yanked her forward, the point of his cowl digging into the skin of her cheek as he glared. Her breath was warm on his face. "Tell me everything you know. _Now_."

_"Superman to Batman."_

Batman tilted his head to the side, swearing under his breath. "I'm busy."

_"What can we do to help?"_

He glared out of the corner of his eye, aimed at Talia. "Nothing; I'm handling it."

_"Oh, for God's sake!" _ Superman snapped, his static-laden voice was rough with frustration. _"Can you put your pride to the side for _once _and let us help you before the rioting gets out of control?"_

He knit his brows, going stiff. _What_? "Rioting?"

Clark's tone was flabbergasted. _"You mean you don't know?"_

"Superman," he growled, voice volcanic, "what the hell is going on?"

_"Leopard Fever,"_ Clark answered, baritone bereft. _"It's hit Gotham."_

**_To be continued..._**


	10. 10 We All Fall Down

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Alfred desperately wanted to clean something.

The room adjacent to Batman's quarters were, strictly speaking, for any guest of the Justice League. That didn't stop Batman from ensuring that no one ever entered it without his direct authorization. To Alfred's knowledge, he was the first and only person to ever be allowed into this room in the six years the space-station has orbited Earth. Somehow, that knowledge didn't surprise him in the slightest.

However, the lack of occupancy meant that there was, quite literally, nothing to do while remaining there. As per nearly everything that Master Bruce did, the room, and the Watchtower itself, was nearly sterile in its efficiency; sanitary, functional, and very impersonal. He already wiped down every piece of furniture with a spare handkerchief, made the bed four times, and adjusted the textbooks on the shelf – the subjects of which ranged from quantum theory to criminal psychology to robotics – according to the proper Dewey Decimal System. Currently, he stood at the small porthole, gazing out into the abyss of space, and came to realize that this marked the first time in forty-seven years that he called some place other than Wayne Manor his home.

It was temporary, he told himself. The Manor had been damaged before, after all, and Master Bruce always fixed the building up, right as rain. Why, Master Bruce's recollection of the expansive mansion quite possibly surpassed his own; his eye for detail was impressive and not to be trifled with. By the time it was fully rebuilt, he doubted anyone would be able to tell anything had happened. Until that point, though, Alfred was to make his accommodations here and, as Master Bruce said, "Sit tight." He knew the comment was harmless, but he bristled at it, all the same. It just went to show how little the boy knew about him, even after all these decades. Alfred never, ever 'sat tight' while Batman was off, gallivanting across the city – or in some cases, across the globe or even cosmos – to wage war on the wicked and unjust. What did Bruce think he was doing all that time? Twiddling his thumbs? Playing solitaire? Watching the clock? Hmph. The nerve of that man.

No – whenever Alfred found himself in lieu of something to help Master Bruce with, he cleaned. Scrubbed, swept, dusted, and tidied anything he could get his hands on. Anything to keep him busy and occupied, so he didn't have to think about how his best friend's son, whom he raised as his own, was out in the dead of night, often alone, risking his life for a city that many thought wasn't worth saving. Naturally, Master Bruce knew nothing of this, and never would. He was a former member of the SAS; he was quite acquainted with duty and personal sacrifice. His purpose for existence was to keep the progeny of Thomas and Martha Wayne alive – and true to his virtues – at any and all cost. Bruce Wayne walked a razor's edge as it was; that man would never know the horrors of falling in, so long as Alfred Pennyworth had a say in it.

He glanced down at the small patch of purple spots that pockmarked the back of his withered right hand. A non-trained eye would see only the common variety of age-spots that nearly all people his age would get. His own eyes, though old, were wizened enough to see them as a symptom of Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia – cancer of the white blood cells. It was gradual, and treatable to an extent, but still ultimately terminal.

Alfred supposed, rather wryly, that the tired cliché of only allowing something over his dead body was quickly becoming a reality.

**10.  
We All Fall Down  
**

A siren broke the deafening silence of the guestroom. Alfred calmly pivoted and stared at the automatic double doors, expecting the Dark Knight to come rushing through them at any moment, only to remind himself that he was abroad, looking for clues. Scanning the room, his eyes fell upon a flat-screen television and the remote that was paired with it. Striding forward, he picked up the sleek black object from nightstand and powered it on.

_" – Center for Disease Control has issued a statement urging all citizens to remain indoors whenever possible, refrain from unnecessary traveling, and to wash your hands as often as possible in the light of the outbreak."_

"Outbreak?" Alfred queried to himself. He turned the volume up two notches.

The anchor stared into the screen, brown eyes clearly fighting the instinct to panic and instead stay neutral to the situation. _"Again, for those who are just tuning in, approximately two hours ago, six cases of Leopard Fever were confirmed in Gotham Central Hospital in Gotham City."_

His hand flew to his mouth. "My word!"

_"Mass rioting has broken out in parts of the city, with police officers struggling to reign in the chaos amid this terrible news."_ The anchor paused for a moment, head tilting to the side. _"Breaking news, folks, it seems that there may be a bit of light at the end of the tunnel – we're getting reports that the Justice League has been spotted entering Gotham and is trying to stem the rioting."_

Alfred muted the television as he stared again at the closed doorway, listening to the shrill alarm blaring outside of it. He longed for a feather-duster. Sighing, he sent a silent prayer to whatever powers might have been listening that his surrogate son would endure the trials being set before him. "'Sit tight,' he said," he muttered to no one in particular. "If it's all the same, Master Bruce, I believe I'd prefer to stand."

* * *

Batman stood within the confines of his mostly-destroyed sanctum, fingers flying across the keys of the Batcomputer – miraculously undamaged – as he reconnected its core systems with the slave database he'd had installed on the Watchtower years ago. With the link established, he could upload and restore the Cray system to full working order in a matter of hours. Hours he currently didn't have.

He brought up feedback from multiple security cameras stationed across Gotham – nearly all of them were displaying various forms of panic and brutality in its full, ugly glory. "The city's tearing itself apart," he declared, leaning onto the keyboard. Even with the mask, the fumes from the chemicals were beginning to affect him. There quite simply wasn't enough breathable air left in the Batcave for his lungs to work with. He whipped his head around to glare at Talia, now sporting a mask of her own, as he continued, "Tell me about this 'Leopard Fever'."

Talia's gaze fell upon the chaos unfolding on the streets. "I do not know much."

He stopped just short of snapping his hands out and yanking her to him, the way he would any punk criminal. "You're lying."

Her expression hardened at his accusation, her lithe frame going rigid. "I am _not_. I know little more than you about this plague my father has unleashed on the world."

"A little more is still more," he pressed. "What do you know?"

She sighed, her face distantly sad. "I know that the disease has been cultivated from scratch by my father, and that he has spent years – perhaps decades – creating it. He never told me about it, and when I found out, he refused to tell me what it would be used for."

"It's a _disease_, Talia," Batman snapped, lips a thin line. "What did you _think _he would use it for?"

"I don't know, beloved," she lamented. "I only learned of its existence shortly after it manifested itself in Hong Kong. Even then, I..." She shook her head despairingly, winding her arms across her belly, as if to shield herself from the horror of her own words. "As twisted as his means have been in the past...I couldn't believe...I could not allow myself to think..."

He ground his jaw. "That your father was a monster?"

Her eyes shot up to his, glassy and hurt. He still had enough decency and compassion in him to feel contrite for the thoughtless comment. His posture slumped a fraction, his focus landing somewhere over her rounded shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"No," she replied shakily, those bewitching pale blue eyes of hers filling with a thin sheen of tears, "it's alright, beloved. The truth is...rarely pleasant when we are face to face with it." She inhaled. "I am at fault for failing to believe what my father has become. For that, there is no repayment, save to do whatever I must now to ensure he is stopped before all is lost." Smaller than him, she craned her neck and looked up through the curtain of thick black hair, through the pain and bitter disappointment, and asked, "Please forgive me, beloved. Please, let me help you."

She wasn't a vaunted, gifted hero that was looking to draw him out of the shadows and into their world of perpetual light – she was a simple human being, flawed and miserable like him, trying to find absolution for the grievous mistakes she'd committed. Who was he to deny her what he so desperately sought for himself?

He mentally slapped himself. What was he thinking? She chose to blind herself to her father's corruption – his sin was drag innocents into his personal battle. Their situations weren't comparable, and he would be a damned fool for ever believing otherwise. Besides, she had burned him before. "I don't trust you, Talia."

She smiled weakly, resigned. "I don't expect you to."

His lungs began to itch from the fumes. "Then why are you coming to help me, anyway?"

Her response was as forced as it was nebulous. "You and I both know the answer to that."

"Enlighten me."

She sighed, begrudgingly answering, "He is my father."

He put two and two together, expression clouding beneath the mask. "You think stopping him is your best chance of saving him."

"I think stopping him is our best chance of saving _everyone_," she corrected, her arm flailing to the footage of Gotham's ravaged streets. "Including you."

"You think he released this plague specifically to get to _me_?" he questioned, squinting one eye and tilting his head minutely.

Her face was carved marble. "Or to draw your attention away."

He squared his shoulders, the flexible cape fabric rippling from the subtle movement. "Away from what?" When she didn't immediately answer, he took one step forward, making a point of letting the boot-tread slap against the stone floor loudly. "You know something."

Talia looked away, producing a small disc hidden within her glove. "I lifted this from the remains of one of my father's men in here. I was going to use your computer to analyze it when..."

He snatched it from her fingers expertly, his reflection pale and distorted in the mini-disc's frame. "How did you know he was holding something?"

"When I overheard my father's order to attack your home," she explained as he slipped it into a belt pouch, "I knew it was to seek information. I left to warn you, but I was – "

"Delayed, yeah. You said that. With what, exactly?" He paid no mind to the warm thump of a headache pooling at the base of his skull and winding down his neck.

She gaped up at him, her accented voice tense. "Father found out about my betrayal and sent men to apprehend me. I had to first evade them."

"And yet, they still caught up to you in Arkham," the Dark Knight interjected, arms folding over his chest expectantly.

She knit her brows, confused. "How did you know?"

"The basement showed signs of struggle, but no men. Where did they go?" He carefully read her body language as the answer left his lips. She was hiding something.

"I don't know." His eyes narrowed. "I swear it. I bested my father's guards, but Ubu was waiting for me in the reservoir." Talia's head hung low in shame. "He overpowered me. When I awoke, your ward was unconscious and the others were gone. I feared they had gone hunting for you, since they failed to capture you at the cavern, so I headed here to search for a way to contact you first."

He glowered at her skeptically, resting one hand against his hip while he leaned on the other pressed flat onto the computer console. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that you're doing all of this for _my _sake."

"I cannot force you to believe what you don't want to, beloved," she answered enigmatically, shoulders slumped in defeat. "What must I do to prove myself to your cause?"

He pressed a finger to his ear, steadfastly ignoring the lightheadedness that came from being oxygen-starved. "Superman," he started, "get the other founders together. We're holding a meeting."

_"Now?" _the Man of Steel questioned. _"But, what about the – "_

"The League's ranks were expanded for a reason," Batman rebuked. "Meeting room in five minutes. Batman out."

Talia's features brightened at his mention of the Justice League. "Requesting assistance from your Justice League? Does that mean you – "

Her words died in the air as a pair of silver handcuffs clamped down on her thin wrists. Her gaze met his, crestfallen. He was quickly becoming too dizzy to care. "It means I'm going to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. Until then," he tightened the bracelets, "you're getting acquainted with one of the Watchtower's cells." His face a stern mask, he towered over her like a cobra ready to strike. "Trust is earned, Talia. And, right now, it looks like you've got your work cut out for you."

* * *

It had been over four years since Batman had stepped foot in the Watchtower meeting room. He'd wished the circumstances had been better, but then, the reason for the meeting room was never for idle chit-chat. All seven founding members of the League sat – or, in his case, stood – at the round table tensely, along with a quietly troubled Nightwing. Personally, he would have still preferred to work on this alone, but he wasn't so prideful as to shrug off the help when it was so obviously vital.

"Poison."

J'onn's voice was as cool and collected as ever, but he noted the undertone of anger buried deeply beneath it. He reached over Nightwing's shoulder and jammed a finger down on a panel button, displaying a hologram of the plague's effects on human tissue. "Yes; more precisely, a highly potent malignant disease meant to infect quickly and spread exponentially – weaponized for maximum damage in the shortest period of time possible."

Wonder Woman took in the flickering images in front of her with an expression of uncertainty on her sharp, regal features. "If it was designed to cause so much destruction, why haven't any officials made any criminal connections, yet?"

"They have," J'onn answered. "But not officially. The investigators I scanned have been looking to various Black Markets across the globe, as well as several countries that are known to house deadly bio-chemicals."

"Did they make any connections?" Superman asked.

"They're not going to," Nightwing responded, pressing another key to bring up a series of scans he'd run on the sample. "I've cross-referenced this stuff to every toxin known to man, Kryptonian, Martian, Thanagarian, and _ape_, and the computer came up blank every time. This thing's definitely home-grown."

The Green Lantern propped an elbow against the table, leaning forward with interest. "A synthetic disease?"

Nightwing shook his head. "It's properties are too all over the place for that. Usually man-made toxins have a certain cellular sequence that gives it away – a pattern. _This _stuff is..." He motioned to the still-frame, a close-up of garish purple-black globs. Even in microscopic form, the contagion looked deadly. "I've never seen anything like it."

The Martian Manhunter nodded his assent. "The scientists already on the case have come to similar conclusions. Nothing has proven effective at stemming its virulence."

Superman rubbed a thick hand over his mouth and chin, pensive. "Okay, so we've ruled out what it's _not_. Where do we go from here?"

"Well, something funny _did _come up while I was running some tests in one of the labs." Nightwing scratched at the back of his head, fingers digging into his shorn locks. Bruce was glad to see that the boy – man – finally lopped off that abomination of a ponytail. He never looked right with long hair. "It almost seems to be affected by psychological state."

The rest of the room was stunned into silence. Flash was the first to recover, an expression of mixed confusion and amusement plastered across his face. "Sooo, it's like the mood ring of infectious diseases?"

Seven pairs of eyes glared at him.

One pair in particular burned into the back of his skull with all the welcoming presence of a red-hot poker. He shrugged. "What?"

Nightwing grinned abruptly. "I like you."

The Batglare shifted targets. "Nightwing."

"Never too busy to kill a buzz, are you?" the vigilante muttered. "Anyway. The sample I had was completely unresponsive to everything I threw at it. But, when I sat back to think of what I missed, I looked back and saw that the sample's toxicity had nearly doubled."

"Doubled?" J'onn repeated dubiously. "Could it have been a delayed reaction?"

Nightwing squinted his eyes in momentary thought. "I don't think so; I didn't do anything other than stop for thirty seconds and try not to get annoyed."

Batman listened to the exchange silently, the wheels in his mind turning with this new piece of information. He hummed quietly and began to pace in a tight line. "Certain strains of virii have been known to strengthen or weaken due solely to the host's emotional state – " he motioned to the fluctuating still, " – that is, the virus can feed off of the chemicals and nutrients created by the nervous system dependent on a particular mood." He shook his head slowly. "But even then, it has to be infecting someone before it can do that. _No _disease is advanced enough to replicate based on the feel of a crowd."

Shayera bent forward in her chair. The espionage officer in her never stopped being utterly fascinated at watching the Dark Knight's mind at work. He took intelligence gathering, detective work, and subterfuge, and heightened it an art form. Some drooled over Picasso's, others mooned over Shakespeare – she reveled in the dissection of a classic Batman scheme. "So? What do you think it is?"

He halted behind his chair, currently occupied by Nightwing, and laid a hand along the back of it. "When you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." He rested his other hand on the table, fairly huddling over the high-backed chair as he caught everyone's gaze with his own. "We already know that it's not a naturally occurring disease, but we've also learned that it isn't a manufactured one, either. If it's not natural _or _man-made, what option does that leave us?"

Wonder Woman's eyes lit up, his meaning clear. "...Magic."

Batman nodded grimly.

Flash expelled a scoff of disbelief from the back of his throat. "Oh c'mon, Bats, really? A magic plague?"

Nightwing hunched down on his folded arms, shooting the Scarlet Speedster an irritated glower. "You got any better theories, Wally?"

Flash frowned. "Hey, Nights, chill with the first name, okay? I mean, sure, everyone here knows it, but you're not a part of the club yet." He crossed his arms. "You don't even know the secret handshake."

An angry, territorial Batman materialized two inches in front of his face, lenses a harsh, cold white against the endless black of his cowl. "_Wally_."

Flash shrank back, hands splayed out in a gesture of peace. "Okay, protective of the kid, got it."

Batman coalesced behind Nightwing's chair, as quickly as he'd vanished. "J'onn. What can you tell me about Talia?"

The Martian's eyes glowed a bright red, gaunt face hard with concentration. "She is...very conflicted." They dulled to their normal crimson, focus coming to rest impassively on him. "She desperately wants to aid you, and us, in stopping her father from causing irreparable damage to the world."

So, she truly had good intentions. That didn't stop his instinct from warning him away from her contact. "But, she _was _lying to me."

J'onn nodded regretfully. "Yes. She was the one who subdued Nightwing with the tranquilizer dart."

"I _knew _it," he hissed.

Nightwing winced and craned his neck to gape at him. "You did? How?"

"She told me she was knocked unconscious underneath Arkham and left there – and _then _said that she feared Society members were tailing me because they didn't find me at the cavern."

Flash snapped his fingers, resting his long chin upon a raised fist. "And if she was really out, then how could she have known that you hadn't been there?"

"Exactly." Bruce fought against his anger and disappointment. He found absolutely nothing more personally insulting than being lied to. Talia should have known this about him, by now. "Did you find out why she was lying?"

"Her thoughts are jumbled; it's difficult to make out exact reasons," the Manhunter responded. "But there was one name that kept popping up – Nyssa."

"Nyssa?"

"Does the name ring a bell?" Superman asked.

He shook his head. "No. In the meantime, we have work to do. Hong Kong was a trial run, and Gotham is meant as a diversion."

Green Lantern's dark features pinched in surprise. "That's one hell of a diversion."

Shayera motioned to the Dark Knight with a nod of her head. "Batman's right, though – our forces are being divided." She pointed at the hologram, green eyes piercing into all of them as she continued. "Ra's Al Ghul has access to a virulent and deadly poison, and the means with which to spread it anywhere he pleases. We need to find out where he's going to hit next, and more importantly, where it's coming from."

Superman schooled his expression. "Right. I'll fly to Washington and inform the President of what we found. From there, the government can hopefully take steps to safeguard other cities from falling to the same attack."

"Knowledge that this Leopard Fever has been purposely disseminated could throw Man's World's entire society into chaos," Diana warned.

"What other choice is there, though?" Flash questioned with an expressive wave of his red-clad hands. "We can't _not _tell people."

Superman tapped a finger against the circular table. "The best thing we can do at this point is try to stem the inevitable panic as much as we can while stopping Ra's and finding a cure for those he's infected." He subtly looked askance at Batman. The silhouette nodded. He turned to the Amazon. "Diana, you and Wally head to Gotham to give the other Leaguers a hand with crowd control. Maybe with the two of you there, it will help calm the citizens some."

Nightwing cracked a grin normally reserved for the gallows. "You don't visit Gotham much, do you?"

"It's the best we can hope for," Batman interjected. "Nightwing, I want you and J'onn to do some research on any and all Society activity in the past six months; if we can find a pattern, we might be able to find out their next target."

Wonder Woman straightened even further in her chair, her brief conversation in the Batcave slipping to the forefront of her mind. "While I was interrogating one of the assassins, he mentioned a particular area – Copán."

Nightwing narrowed his eyes in thought. "That's in Honduras. A long ways away from...well, everything. As good a place to hide as any, I suppose."

Green Lantern raised his fist, ring radiating power. "I'll check it out."

"He also said he stole blueprints to the Watchtower, along with..." Diana hesitated for half a second, "counter-measures."

Superman arched a brow, shooting the Dark Knight a withering look that would have been right at home over the rim of a pair of black wire-framed glasses. "Counter-measures?"

Batman countered the Man of Steel's glower with one of his own. "You sound surprised," he drawled. "Don't worry, those were dummy files – encrypted dummy files, at that. The blueprints they stole will take them days to unlock, and will ultimately send them to an empty warehouse in Chicago. The real files are backed up safely on a mainframe separate from both the Batcomputer and the Watchtower database, in case either are ever compromised."

Superman's eyes never left him. "And the counter-measures?"

The Batglare escalated to Defcon 3. "Also a dummy file."

Were Kent's eyes beginning to glow red? Spite reared its ugly head. "Are you going to tell us what they are?"

"Never show your hand, Clark." He continued coolly, "The files are _irrelevant_; you already know your weaknesses. _Use _that – plan your movements with them in mind, and you can turn a shortcoming into an attribute. Each one of you has the capability of outsmarting me, if you put your mind to it. No counter-measure is foolproof." He swept his gaze over the table's occupants, searching for any more objections. Satisfied there would be none, he stepped back. "I'm going to follow up on a lead. The residual energy signature left from the Metro Tower break-in was almost exactly like the one left behind whenever we use the transporter. I haven't checked, but I'm willing to bet the Batcave has the same signature, as well."

Superman's temper simmered beneath his skin, but he reigned it in, like he always did. Maybe one day, Bruce would tell him how much he respected that about him. "You think he has access to a teleporter?"

"I think I should finally take you up on that investigation offer, Kent," he replied with the slightest of nods. With a more pronounced one, he said to the others, "Time's short – let's go."

The others moved to stand, when Shayera halted them with a heated, "Wait – what am _I _doing during all of this?"

Batman blinked, perplexed. "Taking care of your son."

Shayera looked for all the world like she was about to jump the circular table and behead the Caped Crusader on the spot. With a _mace_. Superman stood from his chair, ready to deflect the killing blow, if necessary. "Thanagarian mothers would be back on active duty the _next day _after giving birth! I can contribute just as much as anyone else here!"

John stood to calm his wife. Or, at the very least, to keep her from murdering Batman. "Shayera, he's – "

"Oh, no, John," she spat. "No, no – he's cute, but I'm _not _getting sidelined to play homemaker while the Earth's in danger!"

Sensing his own demise was steadily rising on the Thanagarian's To-Do list, John promptly threw in the towel. "She's got a point, y'know. We need everyone on their A-Game, which means we need Shayera."

Superman nodded at length. "Okay, okay. Sorry." She looked pleased with his assessment. "But, who's going to watch Rex, then?"

* * *

"_Me_, sir?" Alfred squawked, elderly face uncharacteristically slack with open shock. "But – but sir, _really_, a baby? Me? I-I'm not – "

"You've always enjoyed reminding me how often you changed my diapers as an infant," Batman replied evenly, pointedly ignoring the juvenile snickering of his ex-League mates behind him. Why did they have to insist on coming along? "I think you'll do fine for a few hours or so. If you need any help, you can always ask one of the technicians or League members."

"But, Mast – er, _Batman_, I – "

Shayera strode forward purposefully and deposited the tiny bundle into Alfred's arms with a wide grin on her face. "Have fun," she chirped, before leaning across said tiny bundle and kissing the butler on the cheek. She waved at the baby as the man holding him blushed a beet red. "Be good for your great uncle."

"'Great uncle'?" Batman's brain stopped functioning for a solid two seconds as he tried, and failed, to wrap his mind around those words.

"Good lord, as if I didn't feel old enough already," Alfred groaned.

Bruce simply couldn't help himself; a small grin stretched across his chiseled features as he clapped his surrogate father on the shoulder, murmuring conspiratorially, "Thanks, Alfred, you're a life-saver." He tossed a quick, nearly paranoid glance over his shoulder to the retreating Thanagarian. "Literally."

Alfred raised a brow. "All in the name of heroism, then? I see." He gave his charge a dour look. "You're merely happy that you're not the one watching the child yourself."

He wheeled around, exiting the room, the slight smile still hanging from his lips. "See you in a few hours, Alfred."

* * *

_'Batman.'_

Bruce grimaced at the intrusion of his thoughts as he stepped on-board a Javelin. _'Yes, J'onn?'_

_'Troubles, friend? You seem concerned.'_

Fingers worked on auto-pilot as he initiated the pre-flight sequence. _ 'There's a lot at stake, J'onn; of _course _I'm concerned.'_

_'About Nightwing,'_ J'onn clarified.

_'He's fine.'_

_'But, he was attacked by Talia,'_ the mental voice rejoined. _'Is that why you didn't ask him to question her about this mysterious woman she is protecting?'_

_'I didn't ask him to question her because she wouldn't tell the truth,'_ he answered roughly, the space-faring vehicle pitched towards the Earth's surface. _'She can't be trusted.'_

_'She wants to be trusted.'_

_'Then she shouldn't have lied to me.'_

_'Would you have given her any clemency if she had told you the truth?'_

He gripped the wheel with entirely too much force. _'That isn't the point.'_

_'That is_ exactly _the point. She was coerced into the role she played out of fear for another's life.'_

He had difficulty believing that, and frankly, didn't want to bother. It complicated things endlessly. _'Talia has never been coerced into anything. Manipulated, maybe, but never outright forced. She's blinded by loyalty to her father.'_

_'It appears her loyalty to you is beginning to supersede that.'_

Batman harrumphed. _'She has a funny way of showing it.'_

He felt the Martian's cool gaze in his mind. It was always unnerving when he did that. He nearly shut him out entirely when J'onn telepathically said,_'You're angry that she chose her father over you.'_

_'No peeking,' _ he hissed as the clouds parted to give him a clear view of the flat, densely forested land that made up most of the Delmarva peninsula, Metropolis a gleaming beacon in the far distance. _'I'm disappointed. She thinks of Ra's as some benevolent benefactor with the world's best interests in mind.'_

_'He_ is_ her father,'_ J'onn offered. _'She wants to believe the best of him.'_

_'Not good enough.' _ Dark storm-clouds were rolling in from the west, painting the sky a dangerous gray as he landed on a stretch of land half a mile from an opulent three-bedroom house. _'She's smart enough to recognize the truth, and strong enough to go her own way, but she never utilizes either.'_

_'It appears that she's trying to, now.'_

_'Maybe, maybe not. Time will tell.' _ The hatch lowered with a mechanical efficiency, a harsh wind tugging at his cape as he stalked through the rustling tall grass that swiped at his calves. _'Until then, though, I'm considering her a security risk.'_

_'She cares deeply for you.'_

He closed his eyes, sighing. _'She's in love with me.'_

J'onn quirked an eyebrow. Bruce wasn't sure how he knew that. _'And you?'_

The two-story home loomed in front of him; its warm golden and cool green hues were ominous when paired with the swirling cauldron of clouds he had just cut through. _'I don't trust her.'_

_'And still,'_ J'onn countered without skipping a beat, _'you brought her to the Watchtower, even though you knew you were being lied to.'_

He felt something in him give weigh under the scrutiny, a pressure-valve of stress releasing. _ 'He doesn't deserve her loyalty, J'onn. She sits around, waiting for him to make the right choice, and it's never going to happen. One day, he's going to _kill_ her,' _he seethed, adding a subdued, _'...and she's going to let him.' _He sighed, deflating as the abrupt outburst of rage left him. _'I can't fight her battles for her.'_

That was the story of his life. Always pulling lost souls from the edge, just to watch them hurl themselves over when they were beyond his reach. Not again. If there was a way to reach Talia, he was going to find it. "Nightwing," he ordered into his communicator, "talk to Talia. See what she knows."

_"No problemo, Batman," _the vigilante confirmed. Bruce spared a wisp of a smile. Just like old times.

There went the green eyebrow again. _'Are you certain?'_

He slid through the second floor window with a feline grace, procuring a flashlight. _'We need all the help we can get.'_

_'The League? Or her?'_

_'Both.'_

* * *

Nightwing stood in front of the thick, transparent, cell door, a lopsided grin hanging on his lips. "Hey, Talia," he greeted jovially with a quick wave of his hand. "Long time, no see. How's life treating you?"

Talia's eyes, that cold, piercing blue, warmed with sadness. There was no love-loss between them, that was for sure, but the regret that weighed down her posture and expression was clear as day. "Forgive me for the attack, Nightwing. I did so under duress."

His arms folded over his chest, shifting to rest a shoulder casually along the rim of the cell-block, head lolling to the side in curiosity. "So I'm hearing. Wanna share?"

"My beloved doesn't believe me," she asked with a sorrowful lilt, "does he?"

Dick's smile grew a little acidic, fusing a bit of the Bat into his stance. "Lady, _none _of us believe you." He jabbed this thumb to the tall, muscular Martian standing adjacent to him. "That's why I've got the mind-reader with me."

J'onn saw his cue and stepped forward to be more clearly seen, raising one calming hand as her eyes instantly widened. "Do not be alarmed. I will not peruse memories you do not wish to divulge, but I ask that you open your mind to me concerning the events leading up to this. We require your full cooperation and honesty, if you wish to leave this cell. Do you understand?"

She nodded, features calm and collected. Resigned. "Fully. What do you want to know?"

"Well, first off," Nightwing began, "who's this Nyssa character?"

Talia's eyes bulged suddenly, her shapely body jerking in surprise. "I..." she stammered, breathing shallow. "How did you...?"

"I read the name from your mind when you were brought on board by Batman." J'onn regarded her coolly, red gaze neither sympathetic nor condemning. "She is important to you. Who is she?"

Talia Al Ghul all but collapsed onto the uncomfortable, steel-framed bed, every ounce of fight leaving her. She looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Maybe she was. "...She is my daughter."

Nightwing straightened with a jolt, shoving himself off the wall as his arms disentangled themselves in shock. Oh hell. This just got really complicated.

* * *

Batman stilled mid-action, fingers spidered over an open filing cabinet. "Talia has a _daughter_?"

_"Yup," _Nightwing responded soberly as he recovered, poring over the manilla folders locked in the five-foot tall cabinet. _"Her name's Nyssa Al Ghul – sixteen; apparently lives in some hidden estate in eastern Europe."_

The empty home he was in belonged to one Dr. Sarah K. Dahluzett. She was responsible for the teleporter design that the newest Watchtower currently used, one of the chief engineers behind the building of the Metro Tower, and generally considered one of the brightest scientific minds on Earth. The teleporter had been her greatest achievement – a culmination of her life's work. Its only flaw was the obscene amount of energy required for it to operate, and with Earth's technological level still being what it was, the only source capable of maintaining that level of power was a nuclear reactor. That particular detail had caused Bruce no end of grief during its construction. More than once, he'd wished that he had simply stuck with an armada of Javelins.

Her last known job was designing was a smaller, more streamlined version of her teleporter. He'd looked over the notes two months ago; Star L.A.B.S. was building a prototype that consumed far less energy, at the cost of range capabilities. Theoretically, the design spec would revolutionize emergency services, allowing for the instantaneous transportation of the sick and injured instead of being forced to shuttle them from one location to another. She had been hired to spearhead the project.

There was just one problem – Dr. Dahluzett never showed up.

_"She says that when she found out about Ra's little pet project, she spoke up,"_ Nightwing explained over the line, his voice smoldering with a low anger. _"To make sure she was the good little girl, he kidnapped her daughter and threatened to give her a Lazarus bath if she didn't go along."_

Bruce paused again, his former ward's outrage resonating with him. "Do you think she's trustworthy?"

_"Well, your green buddy does,"_ he quipped. _"And for what it's worth, Bruce, I believe her. She needs our help."_

He knew Ra's was dangerous and vile, but to use a child – his _grandchild_– as a bargaining chip? Sadly, he hadn't put it past him. It was that kind of cold, calculating behavior that he kept trying to warn her about. He smothered the old frustration with cold logic. He would deal with memories later; he had to focus on solving the mystery in front of him.

Clark had come to him six weeks ago, asking for his help on the case. Kent had done some digging and found that Dahluzett had been getting phone calls regularly for three months prior to the disappearance, but the numbers were dummies and lead nowhere. Beyond that, there was no evidence; no paper trail, no forensics – the entire apartment was wiped clean. That alone told him foul play was involved, but he'd told Clark, point blank, that he wasn't interested in anything outside of his city.

Kent had not taken that response well. "Her computer was wiped down, also."

"And?"

Kent planted one hand in front of the keyboard he worked on, towering over his sitting form like divinity came naturally to him. "When does a keyboard _not _have fingerprints on it?"

He would later admit to being impressed with the boyscout's deductive reasoning. "Since when did you become a detective?"

"I'm an investigative reporter, Bruce. I investigate," he'd retorted sharply. "If someone got on her computer, that means they may have the specs on the Metro Tower. Thousands of lives could be in danger, including Dr. Dahluzett's!"

"Call in the Question." To both men, it sounded a lot more like, "Go to Hell," than a helpful suggestion. Clark had left, but he'd been pestering him ever since – apparently their meeting had given Kent the idea that something was wrong. _(A _lot _of things were wrong, but it was nothing he would ever admit to anyone.)_

Batman stifled a sigh, closing the drawer. Kent was right – all information on the Metro Tower was gone. Worse yet, he couldn't find any information on the teleporter specs, either. Nor could he find any evidence of a break-in. It didn't add up.

"Alright," he answered with finality, "have J'onn release her from the cell and come along with you. Maybe she can give us a lead on where Ra's is manufacturing this stuff." No response. "Nightwing?"

Several hundred miles above the Earth's surface, Dick Grayson groaned and stumbled to his hands and knees in the deserted computer room, breathing labored as fat beads of sweat rolled over his pallid skin. _"Nightwing?"_ Batman boomed in his ear. _ "Nightwing!" _He tried to speak, he really did, but his tongue felt like it was suddenly too big for his mouth. _"Dick! Answer me!"_

A small, sickly frown tugged at his lips. It'd been a long time since he heard worry in Bruce's voice, especially over him. He felt bad. He'd have to apologize later, once his body started working again. Weakly, he tried pulling himself up into a kneeling position on the computer desk, but his grip failed. He thudded against the steel, pain and sickness twittering down his nerves as he heard Bruce switch to a more general frequency and order, _"J'onn! Find Night – "_

He heard the sloshing reverberation of doors sliding open through a mile of seawater. "I have,"he stated tersely as arms, cold and unforgiving, wrapped around his crawling and burning body and rolling him onto his back. His glassy eyes bulged when it felt like an elephant sat on his chest. In reality, it was only J'onn's hand. "He needs immediate medical attention."

_"What happened? What's wrong?"_

His gloves were peeled off, and he shuddered at the sudden, bitter cold on his exposed skin. "I don't know, but his temperature is skyrocketing – " The Martian gasped. He didn't know Martians _could_ gasp. "Oh no." Well, that sounded bad; good thing he wasn't a puddle of misery on the floor, or he might've gotten the feeling something was wrong with him.

_"What is it?"_

Blearily, Dick commanded his eyes to function through the...whatever it was that ailed him, and keenly observed a small trail of black spots weaving up his arm. If he hadn't known it was a tolling of a death knell, he would've thought it was a pretty cool looking tattoo.

"He's been infected with Leopard Fever," J'onn exclaimed, baritone solemn.

_"Get him to the medical bay! _NOW_!"_

J'onn didn't need to be told. Dick exhaled a shaky laugh as he felt the Martian lift him from the ground and fly down the halls at breakneck speed. "R-Robin the Boy Ho-hostage, a-at your s..._serviiiiice_..." The last word hissed from his lips as he lost consciousness – again_ (seriously, what the hell) _– and welcomed oblivion. At least it was balmy, there.

He didn't know that his communicator frequency was still open, allowing Bruce crystal clear reception of his comment. He, therefore, didn't know that a two-hundred pound desk carved from pure cherrywood, belonging to one Sarah K. Dahluzett, was cleanly snapped in two when an enraged Batman's fist plowed through it in response. Reports and folders calmly fluttered to the ground all around him, forgotten, like they had all the time in the world to settle in their places. The Dark Knight leaned heavily on remains of the decimated table; head and shoulders stooped with the weight of seven-billion souls – though there was really only one he was thinking of.

Dick was condemned to die.

_Ring around the rosie  
Pocket full of posies  
Ashes, ashes  
We all fall down..._

**_To be continued..._**

* * *

I'm a bitch. There's really no other way to say it.


	11. 11 Atlas Shrugged

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Talia Al Ghul felt like the biggest fool on Earth.

She stared at the carefully sealed evidence bag that contained a small, used metal dart. She recognized it instantly, of course – it belonged to the tranquilizer gun she'd used to subdue the Bat's child. Curiously, her blue eyes rose from it to the room's other occupant, meeting the soulless white lenses of one incredibly irate Dark Knight. She struggled against her instinct to back away from the imposing silhouette mere feet in front of her as he stood, ram-rod straight, and willed her to speak with his narrowed eyes alone. "Tell me you didn't know," he challenged _(pleaded?)_, lips a dangerous downward curve on the exposed lower half of his face.

She opened her mouth to reply, but quickly thought better of it. She had never seen him this angry – this _hurt_ – before. He grimaced, taking her lack of response as an affirmative to his question, and glided across the small cell to grip the small baggie in one large, gloved hand. "The _sedative _you shot him with was actually a concentrated form of your father's plague."

She gasped, hands flying to cover her open lips as she shook her head in denial. "What? No, that's – "

"He was injected with _thousands of times_ the amount of toxin that any other victim has had so far," he continued, undaunted; unforgiving. "By all rights, he should be _dead_ – _should've _been hours ago."

Her fingers attempted to still her quivering lips, her mind churning with the terrible reality of her situation. What had she done? "No...he wouldn't have..."

Batman's voice was like tar, black and thick and boiling, as he growled out, "He _did_." The dart clattered onto the metal table; the dropping of a judge's gavel.

Talia gaped at it, panic gnawing at her ribcage. No, no, no, that wasn't right, he'd said – he had given his _word _–

She closed her eyes briefly.

She was such a _fool_.

**11.  
Atlas Shrugged  
**

Batman scrutinized her harshly as she fought to reign in her emotions – her own betrayal and rage. Abruptly, his expression went utterly flat, decoding her terrified silence. "The dart was meant for me, wasn't it?"

She bowed her head, a damning gesture. "I was told it was a sedative, and that he would release my daughter in exchange for you. If I had known – "

"But it was _me_ he wanted, _not _Nightwing," he insisted, closing in on her. "Why did you fire on him when he wasn't your father's target?"

The wall of the Watchtower cell was as cold and hard as the expression on Batman's face as she pressed her back against it, wanting to fade through it and disappear. Oh, what had she _done_? "Father said it didn't matter – that I couldn't afford to be spotted."

"Didn't you _want _to be spotted?"

"He would have found out – "

"_How_?" he rebuked sharply. "How could he have known?" The livid creature of darkness stood tantalizingly near to her, waves of heat crashing against her chest, tightened with fear. In another situation, she would have craved for this level of intimacy – would have felt secure and content within it. She never imagined a day where she wouldn't feel safe around him.

"My father has his ways." The excuse sounded hollow, even to her ears.

The cape parted, a gust of warm wind brushing against her skin as fingers dug into her upper arms. "So, why didn't you leave a clue for me to follow earlier?" Batman questioned, eyes frantically searching hers beneath the nearly-opaque lenses. "Why didn't you contact me to help you retrieve your daughter? Why didn't you question his motives when he gave you the gun?" His hold became painful, blood cells and vessels popping under the searing vises that were his hands. "Why didn't you _put up a fight_?"

Talia's breath hitched in the back of her throat, feeling herself shrink under the harsh condemnation of his inquisition. She'd _wanted_ to fight – she had wanted to flee and warn her beloved, warn everyone, that the man who called himself Ra's Al Ghul was no longer the man she knew – the one of lofty ideals and eternal, calculating patience. The man that had stood before her was something frightening and dangerous. He had said, so calmly, that Nyssa's abduction had been an agonizing last resort; that even she, his beloved daughter, could not interfere with his final, desperate bid to save the Earth from the whims of its foolish children. She hadn't believed him, _couldn't _believe that anything good could come from something so terribly destructive. But she'd seen her child, bound and gagged, and knew that the threats he made were anything but idle.

She never imagined a day where she would learn to hate her father.

"I had no choice," she replied, accented alto regretful.

"There's _always _a choice."

"You must think I'm a monster." She dared to connect, laying a hand softly on the obsidian crest emblazoned on his chest as her eyes sought for his. "But know that I love my daughter above all else, and would give anything to to ensure that she comes to no harm." Her voice was little more than a whisper when she added, "I couldn't bear to see it."

The unbearably tight grip on her bruising arms loosened somewhat, his expression still furious but his voice strained in something like sympathetic pain. Well, he certainly could understand – she had just forfeited his child's life for her's. "It looks like we're in the same boat, then."

Talia wanted nothing more than to apologize.

She didn't.

* * *

"Gotham's a dump."

Wally tried to find a nicer way of wording it – a more respectful way of looking at Bats' home – but...man, the city was a cesspool of the first degree. He found himself stopping more crime here than in half the world combined, all together, all at the same time. It wasn't just the crime, either; it was the way the cityscape itself seemed to feed on the misery it brought forth – disease upon cancer upon ailment, tripping over each other and sucking the hope from its beleaguered people. It was really depressing.

_"Batman may not want to hear you say that, Flash," _Wonder Woman warned over the communication frequency, sounding busy with a shootout.

"What, and you think this city's squeaky clean, Di?" he scoffed as he sidestepped a hail of bullets and two molitov cocktails from a petty gang, clearly wasted out of their minds, and chomping at the bit to blow away anything that moved – and probably anything that _didn't_, either. One was even drooling _snot_. He didn't even wanna know how that was _possible_. "Aw, man, that is seriously like one of the grossest things I've seen today," he chided, disarming their weapons in one streak of red and rendering them unconscious in another. He gathered them against a lamp-post and got to work tying them together.

_"Well..."_ she waffled with an uncharacteristic amount of uncertainty in her voice, the line crackling and hissing. _Another_ apartment fire? _"Gotham _has _seen better days recently."_

The Scarlet Speedster looked to the sky and spotted – yup, _another_ apartment fire. Did they build this entire city out of kindling or something? Forest fires didn't spread this quickly. Of course, forests didn't have millions of apparent pyromaniacs living in their borders, either. He'd have to talk with the city's fire marshal after all of this was over – provided the guy didn't change his name and move to Aruba. "If by 'recently', you mean 'fifty years ago', yeah." He sliced through the tattered building, searching every room for survivors. In the course of twenty seconds, he pulled out two crackheads, a malnourished three year old _(belonging to the crackheads, probably)_, a hobo, three winos, and a hooker. _'Great company for a kid,' _he seethed silently.

Setting the child down gently, he softly patted her head and smiled. "It's okay, sweetie. I'm gonna get some help for you, okay?"

Uncomprehending, she blinked large, black eyes at him and smiled. Her baby teeth were black. His stomach twisted, partially from the foul stench of rot emanating from the toddler's mouth, and partially from the horror of seeing a three year old that needed dentures already.

God, this city was a _dump_.

He shook his head, gazing to the red sky blanketed above the living Hell he was currently trying to save, and felt a sudden, overwhelming pity for Bruce. "No wonder Bats turned out the way he did. If I grew up in a place like Gotham – "

_"Then you'd want to fight tooth and nail for it, too."_

Wally wasn't sure what exactly he choked on, but whatever it was didn't feel or taste remotely pleasant. "Hiya, Bats!" he backpedaled with a weak chuckle. "So, um, how long have you been listening in?"

_"Long enough." _ Knowing him, that meant, 'Since the beginning, and I'm planning your painful demise as we speak.' He was so dead. _"Anything to report?"_

He snorted. "Yeah, your city's a dump."

_"Anything I haven't already heard?"_

Oh, did he call that one, or what? "You heard that, huh?"

_"I've heard that from a _lot _of people."_

He frowned as he watched an obviously overwhelmed duo of cops pull up to the cluster of people everyone else in the world had stopped caring about years ago. Everyone but Batman, the patron hero of lost causes. He glanced at the child being towed away in the back of the battered vehicle and felt the low thrum of shame in his chest. He sucked. "Well, other than stopping about a gazillion crimes, not much. Sorry."

There was a short pause over the line. _"Diana? Anything on your end?"_

_"There are a lot of fires to put out, here."_ Her tone became wry as she added, _"Your people work fast, don't they?"_

_"Then we've got to work faster,"_ he answered laconically. _"How badly has the population been infected?"_

Flash zoomed through alleys and down roads, wind kicking up litter and trash – syringes, food, torn and blooded articles of clothing – as he moved. Nearly everywhere he looked, eyes peeked out from the shadows and corners, some frightened, others deranged. The handful of souls bold or crazy enough to brave the embattled streets were pockmarked with leopard-print, eyes blood red and sunken into their sockets. "Bad." How could a city – _any_ city – ever get this out-of-control? How could its people become so terrified, so lost, so apathetic, that they would become these half-dead shells shuffling from one meek corner of existence to another? It was anathema to him. "Y'know how Nightwing said it seemed to be affected by negative emotions? These poor guys have bad karma in spades."

_"Well, when you grow up in a place like Gotham..."_

Ouch.

He scuffed his shoe against the cracked pavement of the sidewalk, duly chastised, as Diana filled the silence. _"The hospitals are already overflowing with Leopard Fever patients; I can't imagine where they're going to put an entire city's worth of sick people."_

_"I don't think they're worried about where to put the _sick_ people,"_ Batman stated darkly. Flash's eyes wandered to a trio of panicked-eyed teenagers huddled in a doorway of a nearby derelict apartment complex, already showing the signs of the Fever. He only stayed half-awake during European history in high school, but he remembered the stories of the dead piling up in cities like snow drifts of decaying flesh and disease. The endless pit of ravening that was his stomach fairly quailed at the thought of food. _"Contact me if anything important comes up."_

The link twittered quietly in his ear. He grimaced, muttering, "Well, he's as optimistic as always."

_"His city's being ravaged by a monster we can't even touch, let alone stop," _Wonder Woman sighed sadly. _"Batman's being more level-headed about this than anyone, really."_

Flash slowed to a halt along the roof of a dilapidated building, posture going rigid at the sight in front of him. "You're telling me."

Rolling down the road as the sun sunk beneath the jagged silhouette of the condemned city, smoke belching from its exhaust pipes, was an M1A2 Abrams battle tank; its gears and parts chugging in a sick cacophony of sound. Following it were a fleet of camouflaged Jeeps and light-armored vehicles, along with dozens of armed soldiers, marching in perfect unison; their footfalls echoed desolately in the narrow corridor of the city street. He'd seen footage like this during World War II – it was even creepier, seeing the World War II footage thirty feet in front of him, live and in person during that whole Vandal Savage time-travel fiasco.

Seeing it in the present day, in a US city – even if it _was_ Gotham? His Creeped-o-meter promptly shorted out. "Uh, Diana? Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

_"Vividly."_

"This constitutes as something important, right?"

* * *

John Stewart flew over the ruins of Copán, Honduras. Nestled between mountain ranges and endless expanses of trees, the ancient Mayan stronghold was in surprisingly good shape, for being supposedly abandoned over 1200 years ago. Appearances were deceiving, though, as beneath the overgrown pyramids was a hidden complex crawling with assassins, thieves, and soldiers. Talia had been thorough in her instructions on where to go and what to look for, in terms of booby traps.

"His base in Copán is among his smallest," she had told him, "but if the database you're searching for is there, it will be well-protected. He'll likely know that you, or someone from the Justice League, is coming. Be prepared for a conflict."

He'd flexed his hand, feeling the strength of the ring humming through his veins and his soul. "Don't worry about me. I've got it covered."

The woman – he guessed she was eastern European, judging by her accent – had eyed him warily, unconvinced at his display of confidence. "Do not underestimate my father, Green Lantern. As Batman can attest, he is far more cunning than you may initially think."

"He told me about that." He paused, glowing green orbs pensive as he watched her attention drift to a point beyond reality. "Listen," he begrudgingly said at length, "I heard about your kid. I've got one, too." He'd felt his heart soften when he recalled her plight. _(His inner soldier scolded him for sympathizing with a former and still-potential enemy.) _"I don't know what's gonna be there, so I can't promise anything, but I'll make sure to keep an eye out for her."

Talia smiled thinly, the mirth not reaching her icy blue eyes. "Thank you for helping me."

The soldier in him took the reigns. "I'm _not _helping you. I'm helping the girl."

He landed soundlessly at the top of the pyramid, once heralded as the pinnacle of Mayan culture and architecture. Scanning the altar, worn and cracked from centuries of disuse, he spied a small, round indentation at the bottom of the sacrificial slab, partially obscured by thin, thorny vines that clung to the stone table like a small child to their parent. Kneeling, he inspected it more closely, green eyes narrowing to discern any booby traps. He pressed his right palm against the button, the circular stone sinking into the stone with a hollow, sharp scrape – fingers across a chalkboard. The entire altar rumbled and quaked as it dragged away to reveal a hidden staircase, the tremors of the limestone shooting up through the soles of his shoes.

"They might as well put down a welcome mat," he said to himself, readying his power ring and descending into the darkness below.

* * *

_"Which one is it?"_

"Green Lantern, Master."

_"The one with the power ring."_ The disembodied voice sighed slightly. _"Alas, I was hoping it would be the Kryptonian. Very well, set up the proper defenses. Make sure he doesn't leave the facility alive."_

"Your will be done, Master."

* * *

Diana landed quietly next to a halted Jeep, a uniformed older man poring over an unfolded map laying spread on the vehicle's hood. The figure looked up as she approached, a subdued smirk tugging at his wrinkled lips. "Ah, Wonder Woman, I presume," he stated, holding out a hand. "General Vreeland of the 43rd regiment."

She accepted his greeting with a curt nod. "General, if I may ask, what's going on here?"

The older man, a couple of inches shorter than her, blinked as if caught off-guard by her question. "You weren't informed?" He tottered his head from side to side. "Well, I suppose not – it's rather difficult to get a hold of the Justice League through proper channels."

Her brows tugged closer together, confused. "We have open frequencies that all government and local officials have access to."

"Right, right," he answered in a semi-distracted tone, returning to the crumpled map of Gotham with a wave of his hand. "Either way, there's nothing that can be done about it now."

Diana's dark blue eyes cooled. "Done about what, General Vreeland?"

City sirens wailed in the distance while he took the time to carefully form his next words. The acrid smell of sulfur wafted through the darkening sky, sticking to the back of her tongue and throat. She swallowed to rid herself of the bitter ash. It didn't work. "Your services towards this...historic city have been exemplary, as always," he explained primly, "but the United States government has decided to take control of the situation itself from here on out." He patted the map once for effect. "They want to keep things in-house."

"You're declaring martial law?" she found herself bellowing, purposefully lowering her voice when she saw a dozen heads whip around to find the source of the outburst. She continued, more calmly, "Do the city officials know of this?"

Vreeland's sagging round face brightened with a self-assured grin. She immediately imagined a crocodile wearing a gold-trimmed helmet. "Who do you think called us in?"

* * *

"What is he, crazy?" Superman balked as he gaped at the image of Wonder Woman on the display in front of him. The Watchtower seemed suddenly quieter as his voice boomed through the central hub.

The hologram flickered as Diana held up a paper to the Javelin camera, her sharp features taut with regal irritation. _"It's official; a standing order to cease and desist all League activity within Gotham City limits."_

_"Yup, straight from the big guy himself."_ Flash nodded from behind her, sounding about as happy about it as he felt. _"Looks like he didn't take your news very well, Supes."_

Clark propped his hands against his hips as he fought back the wave of frustration. Negativity was Bruce's game, not his. "I don't understand why General Vreeland would order the League not to provide assistance."

Wally exchanged a dubious look with Diana over her shoulder, halfheartedly offering, _"Maybe they're concerned that one of us could become infected?"_

"Commissioner Loeb doesn't like metas in _his _city."

Superman didn't have to turn to know that Batman had taken up his old spot, to his right and very slightly behind him – close enough to disable him with Kryptonite, and in one of Clark's few blind spots to prevent his movements from being tracked. There were times he found Bruce's inherent tactical prowess comforting. Planning every movement to double as a takedown in case he suddenly went rogue again really wasn't one of them. Sparing the Dark Knight a quick glance, he quipped, "Sounds like you two would get along great."

He heard the scowl more than saw it. "The standing order only prevents any _League_ activity – " Took the high-ground, as always. " – There's no mention of _non-affiliated _people working under their noses."

_"What are you saying?"_ Wonder Woman questioned. _"We dissolve the League and go down there, anyway?"_

Batman shook his head. "No, that would be too risky. Besides, the League has to maintain the image of cooperating with the authorities."

The Amazon quirked an eyebrow knowingly, expression bordering on mischievous. _"Where does that leave you?"_

"I don't play well with others." The cape rippled as Batman squared his shoulders in defiance. "No General is going to go traipsing around _my _city – not while I have a say in it."

Flash shrugged. _"Why? Isn't that what you were gonna do?"_

Clark shifted his footing, angling himself so the Batglare wouldn't clip his arm. And people thought _he _shot lasers out of his eyes.

The Scarlet Speedster blinked, mouth working soundlessly for three seconds while he searched for backup. He received none. _"Listen, all I'm saying is, the whole reason we went down there was to try and get the city under control. The military can do just that, _without _us getting stretched so thin."_

"Flash _does _have a point, Batman," Superman agreed. He met the glower, crossing his arms fearlessly. "Maybe you're not the only person in the world who cares about the city's best interest."

"He's a four-star General – he cares about the _country's_ best interest first, and only." The Dark Knight opened another holographic screen of the chaos that still reigned in Gotham – only this time, the responders were fighting fire with fire_fight_. "They're not there to stop the rioting – they're locking Gotham down to prevent the plague from spreading."

Diana's cobalt eyes contracted dangerously. _"I knew there was something more to it than General was leading me to believe."_

Flash took in the violence in front of him pensively. _"A city-wide quarantine? Will something like that work?"_

"It didn't in the 1300's."

_"Great."_

Clark furrowed his brow in thought. He'd divulged to the President and Joint Chiefs that this disease could be artificially introduced into the population. Quarantining the city made sense, from a logical standpoint – even Bruce couldn't argue that – but why remove the League from the premises? What were they planning on doing to save the city? Unfortunately, he didn't like the answers that came to mind.

_"We'll be arriving at the Watchtower shortly,"_ Diana announced. _"When we get there, we'll need to put our heads together and compare notes. Maybe Shayera and John have found something fruitful."_

"Let's hope. Watchtower out." He closed the link and motioned with his head to the Earth spinning slowly through the bridge window, asking as he turned, "Do you think John's found anyth – "

Batman was gone.

Clark sighed, throwing his hands into the air. "I'm glad we had this chat, thanks for stopping by." He shook his head, muttering, "Would saying 'goodbye' once in a while really kill him? Jeez."

* * *

Dick Grayson sat cross-legged and bored on a sterile white bed, chin in his hand, arm on his knee, as he blandly watched his former mentor configure the settings for the chamber he found himself in. It wasn't like he had much else to look at – the small unit at the end of the medical bay was as spartan as everything else in the Watchtower seemed to be. Efficient and cold, just like its creator. "So."

Silence. More button pressing.

It was worse than watching paint dry. He decided for the more direct approach. "I'm a walking Petri dish, huh?"

A pair of white eyes flashed over Batman's broad shoulder. "Dick."

He wilted a little at the steel-melting glare being leveled on him. "Okay, so it wasn't a very good joke."

Bruce returned to his tinkering, setting up a cadre of health displays along the decently sized monitor. His tone had more brimstone in it than usual when he declared, "This isn't a laughing matter."

"Nothing's _ever_ a laughing matter to you, Bruce." Not that it _was _a laughing matter – he of all people realized the severity of the situation; namely, just how screwed he was right at the moment. However, he couldn't go about spouting doom and gloom and generally being a useless lump of sadness. It just wasn't his style. "Listen, I'm not stupid enough to say, 'Sure, let me out to infect a whole bunch of people while doing my job,' but keeping me cooped in this...uh..." He motioned fruitlessly at the hermetically sealed room.

"Bio-chemical containment unit."

Dick made a face. "Yeah." He flashed a grin at the Dark Knight. "Can we shorten that? How about 'cell'?" When said Dark Knight made absolutely no effort to acknowledge his existence, he stuck his tongue out. "Okay, how about 'birdcage'? Y'know, for the intellectual, poetic types."

Pause. Pivot. Glower.

He flopped onto the bed, exasperated at the statue that played at being a man. "Oh, come on, Bruce – there are situations worse than this!" His jaw clicked shut loudly as his mind went blank while reaching for an example. "...I mean, sure, I can't _think _of any right now, but that doesn't mean they don't exist."

Bruce, apparently satisfied with the modifications, dropped his arms under the glorified security blanket that was his weighted, scalloped cape and finally turned to face him. "I've given you booster shots to hopefully strengthen your immune system, but with the amount of toxin in your bloodstream, and the potency of the disease itself..."

Nightwing grunted, resting his head on his arms folded behind him. "Yeah, I get it. I'm toast."

"No you are _not_."

He looked up quickly. There was a fire in Bruce's eyes that said, in no uncertain terms, that Dick would come out on the other side of this tunnel unharmed, and anyone who disagreed with his assessment was going to get an all-expenses paid trip to the nearest ICU, courtesy of the Caped Crusader. It would've been one of those warm-fuzzy moments, if a voice of dissent hadn't highlighted that Bruce must have thought he was giving up. "Hey, does it look like I'm quitting, either? Give me a laptop and a microscope; I might as well make myself useful while I'm here."

"Researching your own disease may not be wise," Batman replied with a short shake of his head. "You said it reacted on emotional state – Flash and Wonder Woman have been able to at least partially verify that with anecdotal evidence."

His voice soured with the barest hint of disdain. "And you think if I don't find something immediately, I'm gonna get depressed and the Little Disease That Could will eat me alive?"

The Dark Knight looked away, standing as still as a stone. _ 'Busted,' _he thought with triumph, before he actually paid attention to what he was staring at. The cowl was specifically designed to make reading Bruce's expression borderline impossible, but Dick knew enough to gather that he'd struck a nerve. A big one.

If he didn't know better, he'd have thought that Bruce was afraid. Great. As if things weren't complicated enough, already.

He rose from the comfort of the bed – Bruce sure spared no expense on those puppies, that was for sure – and ambled to the edge of the containment unit, resting an arm casually over his head against the sealed chamber wall. No matter how strained or flat out broken their relationship may have been, he couldn't sit idly by and watch the man tear himself apart from the inside out. _Especially_ not over him. "Bruce..." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, trying to find a way to word himself that didn't sound like some cheesy Saturday afternoon teen drama. "Look, you're not the only one fighting this." He scrunched his nose. Well, _that _definitely didn't cut it. He decided to forgo sounding cool in the favor of honesty, in all its cheese-tactular glory. "You're not as alone as you think you are."

How many times had he given Bruce this kind of pep-talk by now? Ten? Twelve? _This _was why he'd cut ties – beyond butting heads with him and Barbara constantly, it was just too painful to see him hoist the world on his shoulders when he didn't have to. All that training and willpower wouldn't magically turn him into God; he wasn't Atlas, he was only a man. That kind of weight would only crush his spirit eventually, if not kill him outright.

The sharp, biting reality of that stood right in front of Nightwing through an inch of transparent metal alloy, hanging his head like it threatened to tumble off his shoulders if he dared to move.

Dick forcibly swallowed a sudden swell of terror. Bruce didn't hold the monopoly on fearing for loved ones. _'C'mon, Bruce, snap out of it.'_

He'd already lost one father. He didn't want to lose another.

Batman's head slowly pitched to the left, catching his alarmed gaze. The vigilante righted his posture, remembering himself. "I'll have someone bring down equipment. For now, get some rest." A ghost of a smile touched his lips; a poor attempt at being uplifting. He knew it was forced – he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Bruce smile naturally...or if he ever _had_. "I'll get you out of here as soon as I can, Dick. I promise."

There was a certain open honesty to his pledge that simultaneously warmed Dick's heart and broke it. He forced a smile of his own. "Thanks. I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

John Stewart cautiously strode down the long metal corridor, buried far beneath the ancient Mayan ziggurat. Thus far, he hadn't seen another soul in the ten minutes he'd been poking through the hidden base. The word 'trap' came to mind almost instantly. Still, he didn't have much of a choice, he mused as he entered an expansive workroom. It appeared to be a sort of abandoned chem-lab – simmering beakers and computers were left unattended, gloves, goggles, and various pieces of equipment were strewn about the room hurriedly, like the workers literally dropped what they were doing and ran.

He calmly hovered a foot from the ground, a skin-tight layer of fortified green willpower protecting him, and made his way through the laboratory. He arrived to the imposing set of double doors, clearly reinforced and shielding something of great importance, judging by the sophisticated keypad with a built-in retinal scanner that was jutting from the wall. Flexing his hand, he aimed his glowing ring towards the door.

Moments later, the heavy steel barrier groaned miserably and toppled in pieces to the chem-lab floor with a thundering _clang_. John stepped into the newly-created ingress, dimly silhouetted by the chemical lab's light fixtures. He stared into the darkness ahead of him, a lone computer array glowing brightly at the other end of the room. Scrawled across its large screen were various maps, each with blips of red, green, and gold flashing in key places. One of the maps was the eastern seaboard of the United States.

A red blip rested securely over Gotham City.

Oh yeah, this screamed 'trap'.

He grimaced and leaned his weight onto his left leg, resting his hands on his hips. "How stupid does he think I am?" He nudged a piece of the steel door with the toe of his boot, plucking it from the ground and tossing it into the obviously booby-trapped room. It pirouetted in front of the pale luminous screen for all of a heartbeat before the flash of four lasers sliced through the curtain of darkness and obliterated the scrap metal in a shower of sparks.

Four _yellow _lasers.

He blinked, face falling in surprise. Well, _that _was unexpected. "Never underestimate him, huh?" Shielding himself, he retreated from the makeshift opening and solidly gripped a computer chair. "Thanks for the advice." He rolled it to the doorway and scanned the inky blackness in front of him, trying to discern where the weapons were mounted. Coating the chair with his ring's power, he said to no one in particular, "One decoy, coming up."

He made a quick mental note to stop hanging out with Flash so much.

With nary more than a thought, he sent the object headlong into the darkened alcove. As expected, the yellow lasers found its lifeless prey and skewered it, briefly illuminating their positions connected to each corner of the room. John had his opening. He dove forward, destroying one with a beam of energy as he landed and rolled. Launching from the ground in a single, swift movement that even Batman would've approved of, he flew along the wall while rays of amber death peppered and melted the steel in his wake. He twisted to his right, slicing through the barrel of a second gun in the opposite corner, the weapon exploding in a fiery plume. Deftly, he avoided the searing golden beams as he propelled himself upward at a 45-degree angle. He reached the ceiling and halted purposefully, both of the remaining plasma cannons flanking either side of him. Gritting his teeth, the guns swiveled and targeted him with a faint mechanical whirring, firing simultaneously.

John planted his hands on the ceiling and pushed.

Two beams of identical yellow plasma passed harmlessly two inches over his head, slamming into the opposing weapon with a pyrotechnic display of fire, smoke, and red-hot steel. He watched the streaks of flame tumble thirty feel to the floor and sighed with relief, lowered himself to ground-level. He wondered just how the hell Ra's Al Ghul knew about the power ring's specific weakness as the ruined machinery burned in each respective corner, painting the room a dull orange. Dropping to one knee, he reached out to inspect the burnt out remains of the first cannon, when the sound of clapping rose over the sizzling of melting plastic and metal.

Springing to his feet, ring at the fore, Green Lantern narrowed his eyes at the high-backed chair in front of him. For the first time since entering the rigged room, he noticed the stately gentleman dressed in green that idly sat in it, a lazy smirk curling the corner of his lips. "Most impressive," the man stated, voice both rough and smooth – sherry over sandpaper. "I see why the Detective has chosen to accept your aid."

"Ra's Al Ghul," he growled, ring illuminated. He recognized the face from a file photo. He guessed the rumors about those pits offering immortality were true – the last surveillance photo of him was taken over twenty years ago in Beirut, and there wasn't a single extra white hair or line anywhere on his features.

_'I'd like to get me some of that,' _he confessed silently.

The Demon's Head steepled his fingers in front of him. "Ah, so you've heard of me. I've been told that Green Lanterns are designated to protect entire sectors, filled with _hundreds _of worlds – each with their own share of difficulties. Earning the recognition of one so well-traveled is truly an honor." He closed his eyes and bowed his head in humility.

John snorted. "Honor _this_." He willed a clamp to erupt from his ring, sending it flying towards the notorious super-criminal.

The construct buried itself into the back of the chair, _through _the flickering, stuttering form of Ra's Al Ghul.

His eyes widened in shock, murmuring, "A hologram?"

The hologram of Ra's cocked a smug eyebrow, his smirk tugging higher, as he placed a hand at his chest mournfully. "I do apologize for not being there to personally greet you, but unfortunately, my mission requires me to be elsewhere."

John clenched his fist angrily. Damn! He should've known better. "What are you trying to pull here, Al Ghul?"

"I had thought my plan would be obvious by now," the image retorted in amusement, "but if you are so inclined to find out, simply check my computer's database." He waved a hand nonchalantly to the massive monitor behind him. "Everything you need will be on there."

"You're kidding, right?" Stewart huffed, cautiously stalking closer to the occupied-but-not-occupied chair. Unbeknownst to him, the tiles he stood on began to glow faintly below his green boots. "With the custom-tailored booby-trap you just laid for me in here – " The holographic Ra's pressed a finger onto the side of the chair. " – Do you really think I'm dumb enough to just take your – "

His words were drowned out in a pained scream as five-thousand volts of electricity shot through him, his body arching backward and curling in unspeakable agony. Five seconds later, the hologram pressed the same non-existent button, the electrical feed shutting off abruptly. The flickering image smiled like a fox, watching with satisfaction as John Stewart crumpled the ground, tendrils of smoke rising from his unmoving body.

"A pity that you chose _not _take my advice, John Stewart," Ra's said as his image faded, its transmitting signal closed. "Rest assured, that is a decision you will come to regret."

* * *

Tim Drake, safely nestled in his apartment's living room in Seattle, watched the breaking news report with nothing short of morbid fascination. A legion of army personnel filed down the streets of Gotham City, arresting and subduing any and all that stood in their path. Buildings went up like firecrackers in the distance, and the citizens that weren't being introduced to military justice were cowering away like frightened animals.

Well, he thought bitterly, they were doing a better job of instilling fear in the hearts of the populace than _Batman _ever did.

"Anything change?"

Tim jumped slightly and stared past his shoulder at the unusually grim-faced Barbara Gordon. He shook his head. "No."

Her frown deepened, leaning over and resting her forearms against the back of the cushioned black couch. "Daddy's not gonna like this."

"Neither is Bruce." He grimaced, as he almost always did, when he spoke his name – it just felt wrong to his tongue, now. Batman came out so much easier than it had before..._before_. So young and reckless, so naïve and idealistic; thinking that the great Dark Knight would ever want to keep him around. _Useless_...

He hunched over, rubbing his temples. Barb clued in on his shift in temperament and rested her hands on his shoulders. "Tim? You okay?"

He grunted, nodding. "I'm fine. Just cobwebs." Cobwebs. What a funny way of putting it.

Heh. Funny.

"Well, _however _he's taking it," he found himself saying as he stood, "it's not really our problem anymore, is it?"

Barbara balked at his callousness – it _was _callous of him, wasn't it? – and stopped him dead in his tracks with a hand to his chest. "Hey, we both grew up in Gotham, too, remember? Whether Bruce – " He expertly hid the tick of his eyelid. " – wants to admit it or not, he could definitely use our help in some capacity or another."

Tim scoffed, stepping back. "Please, seriously? You saw him, back then." His gaze turned mischievous, borderline cruel. "I bet you saw a _lot_ of him, back then." Her face reddened at the pot-shot, and he continued before she could interrupt. "You saw how he looked at me. He couldn't even be in the same _room_ with me without wanting to bolt. I _tainted_ him." His dark gaze to the ground, feeling dirty and guilty and _wrong_. "I tainted _everyone_."

Barb's fingers found his chin, gently tugging the twenty-year-old's head up to face her. Her bright blue eyes were sad like his, but filled with endless kindness. She was too kind. And _way _too in denial. "You didn't taint anyone or anything, Tim. You were the victim, and you survived when so many others wouldn't have. You beat him, Tim. You won. Don't ever tell yourself different."

He wanted to believe her.

He couldn't.

He forced a small grin, for her sake. "Thanks, Barb." On impulse, he reached forward and wrapped his arms around her thin frame in a tight, desperate hug. His head felt better when she was around. He wouldn't tell her that he still had nightmares – she probably knew, but she was nice enough not to push him about it. He needed time, that was all. Time, and distance. He'd forget, eventually. The pain, the loss of innocence, the rejection, they'd all go away, one day.

Tim knew it was a lie. He didn't care.

"Listen, Barb, I'm gonna go lie down for a while, okay?" He scratched at the back of his head. "You can raid my fridge, if you're hungry."

Her rose red lips curled into a faint smile, her arms winding around her chest as she gaped back at the television screen. "No thanks; I don't have much of an appetite."

He shrugged, plodding into his room and shutting the door behind him, leaning his back on it like it was all that kept him standing. A hand threaded through his thick black hair, fingers kneading his scalp to massage away the cooped up tension. It wasn't any of his business. It didn't matter what happened in Gotham, or to Bruce – no reflexive twitch, that time – or to anyone else. He was done with being the hero. All it ever caused him was trouble.

Tim opened his eyes, immediately zeroing in on the small duffel bag carefully hidden behind his computer desk. All the excuses in the world, and he still carried a Robin suit with him. How stupid.

He was at the desk and rifling through the bag's contents in the breadth of an exhale, keen eyes searching for – aha, there it was. The small, ovular communicator gleamed in the waning light of another dreary, rainy Pacific northwest day. Feeling suddenly hesitant, suddenly stupid, suddenly terrified, he almost threw it back into the duffel and stuffed them further into the camouflaged crevice, but he held fast. Robin or not, Barbara was right – Bruce wouldn't be taking this well, at all.

Besides, he missed his voice.

Stupid.

Pressing it to his ear, he switched it on and set it to the frequency he'd memorized almost ten years ago.

* * *

_"Bruce?"_

Batman froze, eyes staring sightlessly into the containment unit as the blood in his veins turned to ice. He forgot how to breathe.

_"Bruce, are you there?"_

His heart hammered so hard in his chest, he was amazed the sound of it didn't wake Dick. He raised one hand, tempted to open his channel in response. He hadn't heard the boy's voice in thirty-three months – well, that wasn't strictly true. He heard the boy's voice in his head every single night, but to hear it _alive_, around him, it...

His palm rested against the transparent steel wall, anchoring himself against strangely unsteady legs.

_"I heard about what's going on in Gotham. I know...I know you don't think I'm cut out to be Robin and all, but..." _ He closed his eyes. It wasn't that, it was _never_ that, it was _himself_ he couldn't trust... He forcibly told his lungs to function. It was like inhaling napalm, liquid fire clinging to the cilia and incinerating them. He took the pain as a sign that he wasn't dead yet. _"I can help out, Bruce. Just tell me what you want me to do. I can hang back, look up stuff...whatever you need."_

He rested his head against the unit with a dull _thump_. He couldn't do this. Not now. Not with so much at stake if he got distracted.

_"...Say something, Bruce."_ Tim's voice was quietly pleading. _"Please."_

Bruce's throat tightened against his consent. His hand, again, reached for the communicator. With a hitch in his motions that normally wasn't present, he flicked his finger against the device.

_"Bruce – "_

And shut it off.

His hand fell heavily to his side. "I'm sorry."

He clenched his teeth. He was such a _coward_.

"Batman?" He immediately straightened, glaring over one minutely trembling shoulder. Diana stood in the opened doorway, face etched with a clear concern. "What's the matter?"

He was thankful for his cowl. He would never allow her to see him so weak. No one would. "Nothing," he growled, pushing off the pane and stalking into the hallway, leaving the worried Amazon in his tracks.

Standing silently in the corner, beyond mortal insight, Phantom Stranger impassively watched the strangled, aborted exchange with a slow shake of his head. It seemed direct intervention was inevitable.

If Batman fell, the world fell with him.

**_To be continued..._**


	12. 12 The Weakest Link

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

The first thing John noticed was how sore his shoulders were.

The second thing John noticed was that he was suspended over a vat of boiling green acid by his wrists, and was steadily being lowered towards it.

He gaped up at the shackles that bound him, groaning low in his throat when he saw that they were – of course – yellow. Shaking his head to clear the fog from his mind, he quickly took in his surroundings. His wrists were bound to a pulley that was attached to the ceiling some thirty feet above him. The luminescent jade pit he was hanging over seemed to be a naturally formed ravine of some sort – it reminded him of an underground spring, with dense foliage and vines snaking along the jagged cliffs. It would have looked beautiful, if he hadn't been slated to be murdered in it.

Squinting his eyes, his features hardened as he willed the ring to lift him to safety. The ring, to his dismay, merely sparked and went out. "Bad time to be low on juice," he huffed. Inhaling the fumes of the pit, his lungs screaming in protest, he tried again – commanding the power of the Lantern to form a beam to destroy the pulley he was attached to. Again, the ring flared and proceeded to die just as swiftly. He stared down at the boiling substance inching closer to him, its unbearable heat wafting up in dense clouds and slamming into his body. A thin sheen of sweat broke out over his skin as the sharp scent taunted his nose – it reminded him of a mix between bleach and burnt rubber.

"Great."

For the second time, he scanned the natural cave formation he found himself in, searching for a way to get himself out of this mess. After all, Batman had a point before – an Achilles heel was only effective if the person didn't have anything else to fall back on besides their powers. Luckily enough for him, he had a brain, as well as brawn. _'Outsmart him – got it.' _He tossed another glance up, checking for any thugs designated to watch him, and was slightly surprised to find no one within his vantage point – which, admittedly, wasn't too great. Never the less, he was almost insulted.

They left him _alone_? Bad plan.

**12.  
The Weakest Link  
**

Wrapping his hands around the golden bonds, Green Lantern quickly judged the distance between himself, the cave wall, and the pit below him. Sucking in another fume-filled breath, he kicked out, arching his back as his stiffened legs swung back in counterbalance. Several seconds passed, gaining momentum with every swing until he was able to start rocking the chain he was dangling from. A rush of heat burst from below, searing the back of his legs on a forward arc, and he hissed in pain as he felt the flash-burn begin to form. Oh well, he'd dealt with worse. He was a Marine. Marines overcame everything.

Grunting, he put every last ounce of thrust he could into his back swing, twisting and reaching out with his feet as he neared the cave wall. Stretching, he managed to dig the heels of his boots into a small, vine-covered outcrop no more than ten feet from the bubbling vat below him. "I hope this works," he panted, scrambling for whatever bit of purchase his feet and ankles could make on the jutting rockface as he strained and twisted his foot into a vine. Hopefully, it would hold his weight when the rest of his body succumbed to gravity with the slackening of the chain that currently held him securely, if awkwardly, aloft. If it didn't...

John grimaced. Well, he _did _think about how good one of these Lazarus Pits would be for him.

As expected, the pulley kept lowering until the shackles could no longer buoy his upper body, and he felt his stomach lurch from freefall as he plummeted. His stomach righted itself a moment later when his back hit the jagged rock wall, his sweat-dotted head a scant few feet from the pit. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief; the vine held. There was enough slack in the chain for him to snatch another looping branch and haul himself onto the tiny lip, albeit precariously. With a frown, he watched as the chain brushed against the bubbling acid and liquefied with a harsh sizzle. He momentarily imagined the metal links being replaced with his legs and torso, biting back a shudder. "Maybe I'll pass on the skinny dipping for now."

He looked up...and up, and up, and up to the main cliff of the grotto, well over a hundred feet above him. John sighed. Well, he had some climbing to get to.

* * *

Batman slipped silently into the window of the nondescript office building. Despite his city being swarmed with the military, it was all too easy to evade them and traverse the city limits at will. After all, they weren't any deadlier than the police whenever he was ordered Kill-on-Sight_ (which was quite often, these days)_, and they knew the lay of the land far less than any native – least of all him.

A gust of wind blew in from the opened window, billowing the venetian blinds and his cape as he turned on his flashlight. Powers Technology was a small-time tech firm that had, until fairly recently, been doing little more than treading water. Its founder and CEO, Warren Powers, was regarded in similar economic circles as a wolf in sheep's clothing – dangerously business savvy and a smooth talker. His company was small, smaller than one would expect from a man widely regarded among his equals as a corporate shark, but he supposed several bad multi-million dollar deals could sour any company's reputation. At least one of those failed technological endeavors involved Dr. Dahluzett directly, and two more as an indirect result of her design specs being manufactured improperly.

It made the sticky note he found attached to the underside of the desk, with the phrase, _'PT 7.6 10.3 A–'_ scribbled across it, all the stranger. He'd been able to decode the message almost instantly – _'Powers Technology, 7/06 at 10:30 AM.' _Why would he want to meet with her after costing him millions? Stranger still, she was reported missing three days later. If he intended to have her killed, what triggered Powers' need to call a hit?

He tapped his finger against the manilla folder in his hand, absorbing the financial reports. The papers were saturated with debt – expenses, bad business deals, damages from faulty equipment and failed experiments. How, then, was his quarterly report showing an increase in revenue? His latest venture was – compared to the company's prior history – resoundingly successful. _Too _successful to be legal.

Batman closed the file, resting it on the open drawer as he rubbed his chin with his hand. All of this involved Ra's somehow; he felt the tenuous connections between each point in his mind. But he needed specifics – and more importantly, proof. "What are you up to...?"

"Who's there?"

Batman's head whipped up, eyes narrowed. Warren Powers flicked on a nearby desk-lamp quickly, waving a 9-millimeter Beretta in the air as his deep set brown eyes cautiously skittered around his office.

He found only an open window, thin metal blinds clattering against the glass.

Warily, handgun still primed to fire into the shadows that pooled eagerly from the corners of the dimly lit room, he crossed over the thin beige carpet and slid the window closed. He sighed heavily, running a hand over his damp forehead as he switched the safety back on his gun. "I need to get more rest." Turning to leave, he muttered, "Why would Janet leave the window open on a night like th – "

He slammed into the brick wall that was the Dark Knight's caped chest, and promptly gasped in terror.

The gun was out of his hand and on the ground before he remembered he even had it – hell, before he remembered he could still _breathe_. Batman didn't move a single molecule, and yet, he was suddenly towering over him like some sort of angel of death. "Who's your deal on the side?"

Warren moved his tongue in his mouth, prepping it for use. He swallowed, loudly. "What are you talking about?"

A hand made of steel yanked him forward. Batman held up a manilla folder for him to see. "_This_," he hissed, tossing the files to the nearby table. "I've looked at your reports, Powers – you've been drowning in red ink. You should've gone bankrupt six months ago, but lo and behold, you've not only made good on your bad deals, you've turned a _profit_. How?"

Warren bluffed with a serpentine grin. "That's how businesses work, Batman."

The toes of his shoes scraped helplessly on the carpet as he was lifted off of his feet. The look on the Batman's face was nothing short of deadly. "Don't play games with me, Powers. I know you're getting money off the books from whatever dirty deal you're covering up. What are you making, who are you selling it to, and what does it have to do with Sarah Dahluzett?"

Powers blinked, stammering nonsensically. "W-what? Dahluzett? That lunatic? Why would I ever want to work with _her _again?"

The Dark Knight's eyes became slits. "You tell me. She left for a meeting with you and never came back."

Warren's face ticked in fear, panic cloying at his chest. "Wha – you can't be serious!"

The nose of Batman's mask dug into his cheekbone as he leaned in, growling, "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"I'd never send an invitation to her, not after all the money she's cost me!" he shrieked. "She was a basket-case, a complete loose-cannon! She nearly destroyed one of my facilities in one of her 'little tests'." His breath hitched when his captor's expression didn't change in the slightest. "I swear, I don't know where she is!"

"What about your off-the-record deal?"

"I – I don't – "

He breath left in a rush when his back slammed into a nearby wall, paintings rattling from the reverberation. "I'm losing my patience, Powers. That is _not _a good place for you to be."

"Alright, al-alright!" He held his arms out wide in a gesture of peace, though he figured it wouldn't do any good.

Slowly, he felt the soles of his slip-on shoes touch the floor. His heart beat a little less rapidly as Batman ordered, "Start talking."

He gulped, trying to catch his breath. "M-my son, Derek – he came to me a few months back and said that he had an idea that could put us back on the map, but he told me it was risky and that we had to be quiet about it." He saw something click in the Batman's mind, his already straight posture going even more rigid. "He said he was contacted by a..._third-party _buyer, interested in the kind of teleporter technology that the Justice League uses. We don't have the blueprints for anything like that ourselves, but he said he was gonna meet with someone who could hel – " His jaw went slack. "Oh. Oh my Lord. Y-you don't think he – ?"

"Who was the buyer?" Batman interrupted, the words nearly lost in the harsh rumbling of his baritone.

"I don't know, he never told me!" White eyes hardened. "I – I don't even think _he _knew; you know how these things work! Paper trails aren't very good for under-the-table business deals."

"Where is he?"

Warren stammered, "He – he just got married a week ago; they're on their honeymoon still. He isn't supposed to be back for another – "

He found himself off his feet again. "_Where_?"

"Havana," he gasped, heartbeat racing in his ears. "I swear, I – I didn't know what he – "

Batman let go of Powers, the simpering man slumping against the wall heavily as he turned away. "Save it for the police, Powers. You'll be hearing from them soon enough."

"No!" Batman went still as he heard the cocking of a gun behind him. Clenching his jaw in irritation, he spared the dirty businessman a cold glare past his shoulder. "I've worked too hard to get my company where it is today! You're not going to take it away from me!"

"Have you come in contact with any of Gotham's tap water recently?" he asked suddenly.

Powers' brows twitched down. "What does that have to – "

He lunged forward without preamble, clasping the man's wrist and twisting. Warren let out a shrill cry of pain as the gun, again, fell to the beige carpeted floor. "Believe me when I say, Mr. Powers," he growled, "that I should be the _least _of your worries, right now."

The Batman had vanished through the newly-opened window before Warren registered his right hand was free. He rubbed at it fervently, cursing that crazed freak in a wetsuit, and went about trying to plan a proper alibi to tell the police, when he noticed a handful of small black splotches dotting up his forearm.

"Huh," he huffed, bemused. "Strange."

* * *

"They knew exactly how to bypass my power ring," Lantern asserted, clenching his fist for effect. He stood at a monitor alcove on the bridge, along with Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash. From the sound of the debriefing he received after barely escaping that underground hellhole with his life, it sounded like everyone's day had been just as rough and unyielding. "I'm guessing the place was rigged for everyone else here, too."

_"Did you get access to their main database?" _Batman asked from the speeding Batmobile.

John sighed, massaging the back of his neck wearily. "They've got every major city in the US targeted, but that's about as far as I got before they fried the circuits."

Superman sighed in brief disappointment. He was beginning to see why Ra's Al Ghul had remained untouched for so long. "So, we're back to square one."

_"Not necessarily," _Batman replied. _"Dahluzett's disappearance coincides with a quiet deal made by Powers Technology to construct a teleporter for anonymous third-party backers."_

Flash quirked an eyebrow. "And by 'anonymous', you mean 'Spooky the Eternal', right?"

_"If Ra's has actually gotten a hold of those schematics,"_ Batman continued, ignoring Wally's heart-felt contribution to the conversation, _"that means he'd need the proper power source."_

Clark took a closer look at the scenery behind Batman, his enhanced eye-sight spotting brief flashes of color dancing along the buildings that blurred past the Batmobile. Come to think of it, were those..._sirens _he heard in the background? "Batman, are you being pursued by the police?"

_"The CEO mentioned something about his son visiting Havana for his honeymoon," _Batman responded, pointedly side-stepping the question. He watched as Bruce rounded a corner sharply, a cop car skidding past him. Why had he expected an answer? _"Doesn't Cuba have a nuclear reactor?"_

J'onn, seated at the computer module, answered, "A non-functioning one, yes. It was never fully completed."

Batman hummed quietly to himself. _"I thought so. We may finally have a lead."_

John leaned on the console forcefully. "What I wanna know is, how did Ra's Al Ghul know of the ring's weakness? That's not exactly something the Green Lantern Corp likes to advertise."

Wonder Woman braced her hands on her hips, hair spilling over her shoulder as she tilted her head to look at Green Lantern. "Could there be anyone else that would know your weakness, John? Anyone that might ally themselves with Ra's?"

Superman's keen instinct – far more honed than many gave him credit for – aptly noted an imperceptible shift in the Dark Knight's demeanor. He was always the silent type, but the mention of the ring forced the man's focus inward in a way that meant he was contemplating something of grave importance. He'd learned as a kid that pride was a foolish, selfish, destructive thing to hold onto, but he couldn't stop the small warmth of it from swelling in his chest whenever he was able to read Bruce. It always felt like figuring out an impossibly difficult puzzle. Granted, this particular puzzle would always go and rearrange itself whenever he wasn't looking, so the feeling of victory was normally fleeting. Never the less, he took those triumphs when they came without hesitation.

Lantern shrugged, removing one arm from the keyboard to gesture with his hand. "Sinestro, but you don't see many Yellow Lanterns for hire."

Flash snapped his fingers, long face brightening with an idea. "Hey, what about Grodd? He was all about the creepy mind-control and manipulation of powers."

John squinted in thought. "Maybe, but dead guys aren't very talkative."

The Scarlet Speedster shrugged. "Well, I can't really think of anyone else. Luthor would've used that kind of info on us already." He scratched the back of his head. "I mean, what other evil geniuses are there?"

Batman suddenly interjected, _"J'onn, did you check the computer database after the Metro Tower break-in?"_

The Martian nodded. "We did. Nothing in the system was accessed."

_"Did you check everything?"_

"Of course." Superman felt the tickling spider-legs of apprehension crawl up his spine. He already didn't like where this was going.

_"Even the maintenance logs?"_Batman queried, jerking the wheel to his left with a grimace.

J'onn blinked, furrowing his brows. "That directory is for routine diagnostics only."

_"Did you scan it?" _he emphasized through grit teeth.

"No."

_"Check it for any recent copies or downloads."_

J'onn acquiesced tentatively. "Very well. A moment."

Flash gave the Batman a strange look, eyebrow cocked in faux-amusement. "Know something we don't?"

Silence greeted them.

"Batman, I have something," J'onn stated, surprised. "One file was opened in the past twenty-four hours; a file – "

_"On core-system specs?" _ The timbre of his voice hovered somewhere between guilt and disgust, and with that, his behavior became entirely too understandable to Clark. This time, he felt no pride in figuring out his best friend's motives. He placed the current emotion in the neighborhood of disappointment. _'Damn it, Bruce...'_

"How did you know?"

Batman ground his jaw, tersely responding, _"Those were the counter-measures."_

Superman's expression became blistering. "Always carry a spare?"

_"The file was encrypted and hidden," _Batman rebuked sharply. _"No one without Omega-level security clearance should have even been able to _see _it, let alone access it."_

John slammed a fist down on the metal console. "We're getting set up. This guy's playing all of us like violins."

Bruce's eyes thinned angrily. _"Not all of us. Just me."_

The connection cut off abruptly.

Clark wanted to slam his head against the nearest solid object. Bruce Wayne was the single most infuriating man he'd ever met in his entire life _(that wasn't out to kill him)_. He knew that Batman's involvement in this catastrophe was out of duty to his people and was tenuous at best. Still, he'd held out hope that maybe the interaction with his fellow Leaguers and friends – people he'd nearly died for on a dozen separate occasions – would have spurred some sense of camaraderie; that he would remember why he initially trusted them. In hindsight, perhaps it was too optimistic an outlook.

Well, he began to steel himself for one hell of an argument, because he was not going to give up on him so easily. This nonsense had gone on for far too long. It was high time that insufferable jerk learned how much his pigheadedness was affecting the rest of them. Martyrdom only worked when someone had a good cause to die for. Quietly labeling oneself as poison wasn't exactly something the masses could rally behind.

"Batman," Wonder Woman intoned for the third time in ten seconds, frowning when there was no response. "He's not answering."

Of _course _there wouldn't be an answer, he thought acerbically, this was Batman they were dealing with. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "He won't. J'onn?"

The Martian shook his head. "He's shut me out of his mind, as well."

Wally glanced between the other four founding League members curiously. "Sooo, are we drawing straws or doing Rock Paper Scissors?"

* * *

Gotham burned.

Batman's attempts to control what he could of the population vaporized like steam when Loeb caught wind of his presence in the lower east-side. He'd stopped a home invasion by some punks; had the home-owner, an elderly lady, trussed up like Thanksgiving dinner as they circled her. Blood-thirsty wolves. He'd saved her life – possibly theirs, too, as he doubted the military personnel he ran into as he hastily exited would have given a second thought to gunning every last one of them down for their transgressions. He was never looking for a reward for the things he did, but he could have done without the twenty-five minute pursuit down Gotham's streets.

Currently, he stood atop a towering spire, cape flapping insistently behind him from the howling wind that was stank of smoke, and watched his beloved city writhe in turmoil. All of this, _all_ of this, because he hadn't thought to fully shut down that machine before racing off to a futile situation he knew he couldn't have stopped. All this disaster because he let fear get the better of him. And now Ra's Al Ghul had his counter-measures – the means with which to render the entire League ineffective in one bold stroke, should he see fit to use it. And knowing Ra's, he most certainly _did_.

Bruce squared his shoulders, breathing in deeply. No point crying over spilled milk – Ra's had the information, and understood his methods, damage-control was his only option, now. The disease was spreading too quickly for him to be of any use on the streets; his best bet was to isolate the key cellular sequence in the toxin in order to nullify it and synthesize an antigen. He had extra resources beyond the Batcave and Watchtower, he _always _had extra resources, he'd just have to make use of them. The League already knew of Ra's plans to infect other cities, so that particular ball was in their court. A teleporter was dangerous technology in the wrong hands, but without a deadly bio-chemical weakening the world's defenses and panicking the populace, its threat was significantly reduced.

So, priority one was Leopard Fever. Once he came up with a way to combat it, he would have to anonymously send the information to the others through different channels to ensure that Ra's wouldn't intercept the message en route. After all, if he was able to access an Omega-level security clearance file, he could certainly piggyback onto private League frequencies.

He heard the faintest rush of air come from behind him. Knowing that wind didn't blow in two directions at once, he stared directly ahead of him, through the landscape. "Aren't you banned from entering Gotham City limits?"

By this point in their relationship, Kent had long-since grown used to his arrival being noticed before he said anything. Touching down on the stone outcropping of the deco-inspired skyscraper, he assuaged, "I'm not here for heroics."

"Then leave." Bruce knew the statement would fall on deaf ears, but his reputation demanded that he say it, anyway.

Superman, as expected, didn't listen. "You cut off communication with us before we were finished."

"There was nothing left to say."

Clark sidled closer to him. "You might've missed something important."

He angled his head to stare evenly over his shoulder at the Man of Steel. "Did I?" The lack of a response told him all he needed to know. "What do you want?"

Clark sighed, a weary and long-suffering sound. "You're doing it again."

A brow twitched beneath his cowl. "Define 'it'."

"Blaming yourself."

The bluntness of his statement pricked at Bruce's ire. Feigning ignorance, he asked, "For what?"

"Oh come off it," Kent snapped, circling around to challenge him face to face. "What do you think isolating yourself is going to accomplish? Do you really think that's going to keep us safe?" Something flashed across his features, but it disappeared too quickly for him to place what it was. "We're _superheros_, for Pete's sake – if you didn't want to see us in danger, then you picked the wrong line of work." Clark met his glare defiantly, azure eyes combative. "I suggest accounting."

He schooled his features to keep the grimace of dissatisfaction from crossing them. "It's for the best, Clark. If I'm not around – "

In the span of a millisecond, Bruce found himself held two inches off the ground in a painful, unbreakable grip, staring down at one very annoyed Superman. Well then. It looked like he had _finally_ found Clark's last nerve. He'd have felt triumphant, but was too busy trying to remember what possessed him to ever humor him and partially-join this _League _of his in the first place. Damn it, why did he have to stop carrying around Kryptonite?

"Listen," Clark hissed, "I don't know _what's _gotten into you, but it's stopping right now."

His lips twitched in a humorless smirk. How cute, Kent was trying to be threatening. "Even if you have to beat it out of me?"

Kent's expression twitched in remorse and he relinquished his hold, setting him down on his feet. _(He hated being shorter than him.)_ Maybe he hadn't pushed the farm-boy so far, after all. "Sorry." He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "We're depending on you, Bruce. And if the League is depending on you, that means seven-billion others are, too. You _can't _walk away now."

"I have to."

"Why?" Kent questioned emphatically, gaze boring into him. "Because of the files?"

"Because Ra's knows how I operate, and he's using that knowledge against all of you," he explained impatiently. "I won't endanger everyone's lives by being _predictable_."

Clark scoffed. "Believe me, that's the one thing you're _not_. But leaving would be." The Boyscout's hand landed solidly on his left shoulder. It felt like being pawed by a bear. "So, if you _really _wanna throw him for a loop, stay."

He struggled to understand the logic behind Kent's statement. Surely, Ra's had plans in motion for either choice he made. "And do what?"

A small grin touched Superman's lips. "Well, trusting us would be a nice start."

"I do."

"Do you?"

Bruce shrugged the hand off, muscles of his jaw rolling uneasily beneath his skin. "It's not a matter of trust, Kent. It's a matter of priorities." He strode to the other side of the roof, sensing more than hearing that Clark was floating closely behind. Stopping at the ledge, he continued, his baritone losing its terrifying edge. "I can't be directly involved anymore, or I could risk all of your lives – more than I already have." He inwardly flinched at how tired he sounded. The effects of exhaustion were slowly, inexorably, beginning to creep up on him. He couldn't afford that.

Clark landed to his left, leaning back against the stone wall with a foot propped up and muscular forearms folded casually over his chest. They could've been talking about baseball, for all the world knew. "So, it _is _about the files."

"It's not – " He hissed a sigh. "I'm a _liability_, Clark." There, he said it. The words felt dirtier coming out of his mouth than the did locked up inside his brain. Why didn't Clark _understand _that? "I won't be any good to you if I wind up second-guessing every decision I make."

Superman shrugged, looking confused. "Why would you need to?" Several very unsavory phrases flitted through the Dark Knight's mind as Kent continued to be obtuse. He'd already admitted he was weak; what else did he want? "We can take care of ourselves, Bruce – no counter-measure is foolproof, remember? Green Lantern already proved that."

"I won't be responsible for anyone getting hurt." His voice was lined with steel. _No one_was going to suffer on part of him. Not while he had a choice in the matter.

"No one would hold you responsible, Bruce."

"I would."

"Which is exactly what Ra's Al Ghul wants." He glared darkly at his uninvited companion. "You said it yourself; he knows how you think. He knows you're a decent human being and he's exploiting it. Deep down, you _know_ that." Clark pushed himself from the wall, coming up next to him to stare at his profile. "But, the thing is, _you_ know how _he_ thinks, too – and that's what he's afraid of. He _wants _you to walk away, he's banking on it, because he knows that's the only way he'll win." The Man of Steel's cobalt blue eyes were radiant and expressive, full of warmth and compassion that Bruce simply didn't feel worthy of accepting. "Don't let him, Bruce. Do what you do best – be unpredictable."

A bolt of electricity traveled down his spine. _'Don't let him win.'_He shut his eyes to ward off the memories. "Tell me something, Kent. Why would you trust a man who carries around an object specifically designed to kill you, who you know could use it at any given moment?" He twisted his head to look at the Kryptonian fully.

Clark flashed a dazzling, boyish grin that never failed to either irritate the hell out of him, or make the ice-wall constructed around his heart temporarily melt. In this case, it was a healthy mix of both. "Because you know the difference between _wanting_ to use it and _needing _to."

He understood the undertone perfectly. _"If anyone kills me, I'd want it to be you."_

In spite of being utterly mortified at the idea of killing _anyone_, least of all his closest friend, Batman felt almost...touched by the sentiment. "Now who has trust issues?"

Kent quirked an eyebrow. "You're not the only one who has contingency plans." He inhaled deeply, resting a hand on his waist. "By the way, did that sliver of Kryptonite you tried to hide from me survive the explosion?"

Bruce was too disciplined to allow himself to double-take they way he'd wanted to do. "I don't have – "

An undignified snort rolled from the back of Kent's throat, shooting him one of those reproachful, soul-searing glowers that made even _him_ feel the slightest bit sheepish _(though he'd have cut out his own tongue before admitting as such)_. "Oh _please_. I know you."

"How did you know?" He could've bluffed him. He just didn't feel like it.

"Because you're always prepared," Superman replied, adding with an amused lilt, "and people call _me _the Boyscout." He scowled. Clark's smirk widened. "Besides, it was the only compartment in the Batcave lined with lead."

He grunted. "Investigative journalism at its finest."

"Having X-Ray vision helps, too. So, are you coming?" Kent's grin, his spirit and aura, were infectious – it buoyed him against his own worries, allowing him to center himself and focus clearly on the daunting task ahead of them both. Clark was a good man, and a good friend. He only hoped one day he could work up the nerve to tell him that.

For the moment, he stayed in safer waters and answered, "I'll be along in a bit. There's one more person I have to talk to." Superman hovered in place, hesitant. "I'll come back, Clark." The corner of his mouth tugged up into a miniscule sardonic smirk. "Trust me."

Clark did.

* * *

Jim Gordon had done exactly what he was told, and stayed as far away from Gotham's tap water as he could. That meant that he'd forgone a shower, washing his hands, doing the dishes, and coffee. It was times like this he wished he hadn't given up smoking. As often as his life was in danger, it wasn't like lung cancer was the most likely way for him to go. Rubbing at his weary eyes beneath his glasses, fruitlessly trying to massage away the caffeine withdrawal headache, he stood from the sofa slowly. Working out the ever-present kinks in his back, he glanced at the wall-clock – _11:52_– as he scooped the remote from the corner table and turned the muted TV off.

Martial law in Gotham. Christ. "What was Loeb thinking?"

"Quarantine."

He jumped with a yelp, hand slapping against his chest. Tossing a halfhearted glare at the shadow to his left, he said, "Don't sneak up on an old man like that. Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?"

"Sorry." Looking down, Batman fiddled under his cape for a moment before holding out a cylinder in his right hand. "Here – I brought this with me. I thought you might need some." Blinking, he strode forward and took the black thermos from the vigilante's grasp, unscrewing the cap and cautiously sniffing the contents.

He could've cried. Oh God bless this wonderful, thoughtful man. "Coffee?"

It was normally difficult to read Batman's expression, but he appeared pleased. Well, as pleased as someone like him could get. "Columbian. Black. From a different water-source; I ran tests on it four times."

Wasting no time, Jim hurried to the kitchen and plucked his favorite mug from a Formica pantry, pouring some of the contents of the thermos into it with barely-contained glee. Taking another whiff of the aroma, he brought it to his lips and took a small gulp, savoring the rich, bitter flavor of it. It was definitely high-quality, but a guy like Bruce Wayne had the money to spare. He opened his eyes, not realizing that he'd closed them, and looked at his silent companion, who watched him with open interest. "Good?"

"Sure beats the sludge they gave at the headquarters," he answered, tipping the mug up in way of thanks. He tapped the thermos with his forefinger. "Want some?" Batman raised a hand and shook his head. He took another sip of the glorious caffeinated beverage, shoving his left hand in the pocket of his blue robe. "You don't usually make house-calls. What brings you here?"

"You've heard about the inclusion of the military," Batman stated, still as a stone.

He scoffed. "Who didn't?" He glared at the refrigerator like it was the source of all his problems. "Lousy feds and their cockamamie schemes – how did they expect to stop the spread with soldiers?"

"They didn't." Jim looked up at that. "The populace was purposely infected, and the military knows it. They're sending in troops for show, and to keep as many citizens within city limits as possible."

"They can't corral ten million people forever," he retorted.

"I know," Batman agreed, "and so do they."

Gordon grimaced, the aftertaste of the coffee leaving a bitter taste along his tongue. At least, that's what he told himself it was. "What do you think they're up to?"

The Dark Knight produced a small folder, the word **'CONFIDENTIAL' **stamped across it in blocky red text. "General Marshal Vreeland is officially in charge of the troops on the ground," he explained, opening the folder and laying it out on the counter next to the thermos. "But he's not in charge of the operation." He pointed to the top of the sensitive document. "Sound familiar?"

Jim put down the mug slowly, the glass clinking hollowly against the wooden counter-top, and read the name typed next to Batman's finger. "General Rick Flagg? Wasn't he a part of that spooky NSA unit – "

Batman nodded grimly. "Cadmus."

His fingers curled around the warm edge of his mug pensively, frowning. "Why would a guy like him be put in charge of a quarantine?"

"Because it isn't a quarantine."

Jim stared at his long-time friend, studying his features. He looked more exhausted than he'd ever seen him. And given how bad he'd seen him in the past, that was saying something. "What is it, then?"

Batman shook his head slowly, the motion unsure. Then, he turned suddenly, catching his gaze. "I came here to ask you to leave."

He spluttered into his mug. "What? Leave?"

"Whatever they're planning to do isn't for Gotham's benefit." Batman's eyes under those lenses, what he could see of them, were intense, imploring. "I can get you out, now, tonight. You'll be out of harm's way."

He floundered soundlessly for several seconds, trying to wrap his mind around what Batman was asking of him. Abandon Gotham? It went against everything he stood for, everything he fought against. "Batman, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I'm not gonna turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble."

Batman stepped forward and placed impossibly strong hands on his shoulders, visage under the mask showing more emotion than he probably felt comfortable with. "Jim, you _need _to come with me. I – " his baritone faltered for a heartbeat, " – don't know if I can stop them, this time."

The words hit Gordon like a fist to the gut. Batman _never _admitted uncertainty. Plunking the cup down on the counter, he placed his hand on the cloaked figure's elbow. "What's going on, son?"

"I'll explain later." When Jim frowned, because he knew damn well that he wouldn't, Batman added, "I promise." He motioned to the wall-clock that read _11:58_. "We need to leave quickly – the next patrol will arrive in a few minutes."

He sighed heavily, ignoring the voice that said he was a coward for running away in the night. If Batman said it was a good idea to leave, then it was a good idea to leave. He nodded. "Gimme a minute to grab a couple of things. Does Barbara know about any of this?"

"Barbara's in Seattle with Tim, they should be safe there." Batman made to walk out the back door, cape unfurling behind him. "I'll be waiting outside."

On impulse, he asked, "How is Tim, anyway?"

The Dark Knight lurched to a halt. There was a moment of hesitation that stretched on forever. "Scarred," he answered quietly, slipping through the back door.

Jim ran a hand down his face, jogging into his bedroom. Some day this turned out to be. He yanked out an old ratty bag and hurriedly tossed in a change of clothes, his medication, a picture of Barbara, and his standard-issue gun with a spare clip of bullets. Taking one last look at the bedroom he'd lived in for over thirty-five years, he closed the door behind him. He stopped at the hallway closet, reaching for a pair of shoes, and gasped.

Six bricks of plastique sat amiably at the floor of the small cubby, red light flashing ominously as the small digital clock ticked away to midnight.

He dropped the shoes and dove into the kitchen, under the counter.

* * *

Batman ascended the ladder of the Batwing apprehensively, unsure of just how he was going to fix this mess. He got Gordon out, but that wasn't going to –

He was thrown roughly onto the wing of the plane with a surge of incredible heat as the thundering boom of an explosion rocked the ground beneath him. Shoving himself up, he twisted around to find the Gordon home engulfed in flames, pieces of mortar, brick, and drywall plummeting into the grass in a fiery wreck.

Bruce's heart seized in horror. He launched himself from the hull of the craft and ran full tilt into the inferno, the next thirty seconds passing in a blur of adrenaline. He continued to silently berate himself as he dragged the barely conscious former Commissioner from the burning building, having removed his flame-retardant cape and all-but cocooning it around him. Idiot! Why did he leave him alone? Why didn't he think to check the premises earlier? Why didn't he assume that Ra's was targeting everyone that was close to him? Why didn't –

_"Barbara's in Seattle with Tim, they should be _safe _there – "_

His helped the miraculously unharmed man in his arms to a sitting position, stalwartly fighting back the bitterly cold, clammy tendrils of fear that began to snake through his veins. Dick's words to him the last time Jim Gordon was nearly killed due to his incompetence came screaming back to the forefront of his memory. He couldn't be _everywhere_. Especially not now.

"Heh," Jim chuckled weakly, rubbing at his mussed and singed white hair, "well, the coffee was good while it lasted."

Trust them, Superman said. He looked down at his unofficial working partner of twenty-five years before returning his gaze to the ruined, immolated Gordon home. His grip tightened without thought. He might not have a choice, now.

_**To be continued... **_


	13. 13 Mortal Coils

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Shayera laid on her old bed, in her old room, inside of Doctor Fate's Tower. She had told Inza that she was going to try and get some shut-eye while Fate was jabbering away with Nabu and the other Lords of Order. Thus far, in the nearly eight hours that crawled on by, she managed one fitful twenty minute slumber. She wanted to blame it on the situation – evil baddie, festering plague, the usual worries associated with saving the world, but she couldn't. No matter how many times she shifted on the mattress, flexing and bending her wings, flopping from her back, to her stomach, to her back, she just couldn't get comfortable. It didn't feel right laying alone, anymore.

Damn it, she'd gone native.

Thanagarians never indulged in useless pining. Sure, she loved her parents _(Were they even still _alive_? Probably not.) _and her parents loved her in return, but their society wasn't one of coddling. It was one of strength, of sacrifice and honor, of standing tall and proud on your own. There were heroes and officers designated to protect the populace from hostiles, but the populace was more than capable – and willing – to jump into the fray of any violent battle. No one ran away from a fight there. Humanity was...so completely opposite – they sheltered the weak and infirm along with the fit, reared the timid as well as the brave. She understood now, after being a part of their society for over a decade, that both methods of operating had their strengths and weaknesses. One weakness, of which, was poking incessantly at her ribcage.

She missed laying next to John. She missed little Rex being snuggled in her arms, in spite of all the hell that toothless little sadist had put her through so far. She missed them even when, deep down, she felt she didn't _deserve _to miss them. This room, this tower, brought her back to the lowest point in her life – she'd never felt comfortable here, even when it was her only sanctuary on two worlds. Shayera would never be able to outrun those terrible memories; maybe one day, she'd get that absolution. Until then, though, her only hope was to spend the rest of her life atoning for the billions of lives she directly ruined.

Hey, it was a goal to shoot for, at least.

**13.  
Mortal Coils  
**

The door opened with a muted whoosh of air. Shayera peered from her prone position, currently on her side, to see Inza standing with a displeased expression upon her face. Granted, the woman normally didn't smile much, but her features were unusually severe, even for her. She sat up. "Bad news?"

Inza merely said, "Come with me."

Shayera stood, stretching her wings behind her, and followed silently through the winding stairwells and hallways of the mystical tower. Her thoughts quickly drifted to John and Rex, and more belatedly, to Alfred. The man was a miracle worker, no doubt, but Rex was a handful, and that beleaguered butler already had his own filled with Bruce – especially now. Briefly, she felt a stab of guilt for shoving more responsibility on him, and promised to make it up to him before this was all over. Help him with the chores, do some heavy lifting, maybe slap Bruce upside the head when he was being clearly obstinate. _(With or without the mace depended upon Alfred's wishes, though she preferred 'with' greatly.)_

But then, she'd made a lot of promises before.

She strode through the main study, with its bookcases spiraling up into infinity, as her eyes befell Doctor Fate. "So, Doc," she began, all business, "what's the verdict?"

His expression was impossible to gauge from the golden mask hiding his features, but she got the distinct impression he was disappointed. "I'm afraid that the Lords of Order cannot be of assistance."

She frowned. "Any particular reason why?"

"When I explained the unique nature of the disease," he explained solemnly, "Nabu said only that neither he nor the other Lords of Order could intervene."

Shayera crossed her arms, slightly annoyed at the response. "Well, I wasn't exactly expecting them to poof up a cure, but a little information would've helped."

"They have no information to give you."

The three occupants in the room turned suddenly, facing a tall, mysterious man clad in a long blue cape and matching fedora. Shayera loosed her mace from its loop on her side, gripping it dangerously. Fate laid a gloved hand on her tightly knotted forearm before she managed to close the distance between them. "Shayera, wait; stay your weapon. Phantom Stranger is an ally."

Glancing between the newcomer and Fate for a tense five seconds, Shayera begrudgingly acquiesced, eying the Stranger warily. "Next time, use the door."

The cloaked figure turned to Shayera, an unnatural shadow falling across his gaunt features that masked the top half of his face. "Time is short," he said, deep voice eerily calm. "There's far more to this situation than is readily apparent."

Her right hand found her hip, while her left clasped the butt of her Nth metal mace. "What, a crazy eco-terrorist armed with a super-bug isn't enough?"

His tone was disconcertingly soothing as he replied, "The disease is merely an instrument to achieve a much larger, more deadly goal."

Shayera gaped at him, green eyes alight with incredulity. "What could be more deadly than a plague?"

His unseen gaze intensified under the inky shroud of darkness. "Many things," he replied enigmatically. "I'm prevented from directly interfering with the current chain of events; I can, however, offer advice."

"Alright. Let's hear it."

He stepped forward, and she ignored the instinctive urge to back away – he exuded an aura that seemed to electrify the air around him, one of pure, undeniable _power_. "Ra's Al Ghul has long taken the natural fonts of energy that you call Lazarus Pits and abused them for his own ends. One such abuse may be responsible for this pestilence." With a wave of his hand, an image sprang to life in front of her. Shimmering in it was a verdant, mountainous region, with pockets of white clouds bisecting the lush peaks, and a clear blue sky hanging above. "Do you recognize this area?"

Shayera wracked her mind for any discerning features that she could spy from the elevated perspective. It was the type of view she was privy to when soaring the skies. She felt a momentary pang of regret, for what, she wasn't sure. After several moments, she shook her head in the negative. "It's some place that has a temperate climate, but that's it."

He stared down at her with dispassionate, pupilless white eyes. "Perhaps your husband might know the land better," he stated. The image changed, dove down deep through the canopy and into the dense underbrush – there was that pang, again – and hovered easily in front of a dilapidated, but still miraculously standing step pyramid. Midway up the cracked structure was a tiny figure, dark against the slate gray of the stairwell.

Her lips parted in a barely audible gasp. "John!" Her green eyes flared, pinning the Stranger in an openly distrustful glare. "What is this?"

In response, he merely cocked his head to the side slightly. "This is Green Lantern, circa seven hours ago."

Fine red brows furrowed in momentary incomprehension as she muttered, "Seven hours ago? That would've put him in – " Her eyes widened. "Copán!" Again, her features twisted in thought. "But he didn't find anything."

The image faded abruptly. "Puzzle pieces rarely make sense by themselves."

Shayera appraised Phantom Stranger intently. He was playing the mysterious card pretty hard, but it seemed as though Doctor Fate knew of him, even deferred to him. That meant seniority – _or_ superiority. Superiority to one of, if not the, strongest sorcerer on Earth was bad news for _somebody _out there; she just hoped it wasn't for her and the rest of humanity.

Yup. She'd gone native, alright. "What's your stake in this?"

He appeared no taller than Batman, but somehow, he gave off the impression of towering over her with no effort at all. "My stake is the same as yours," he said. "Preservation of life."

"So why haven't you bothered showing yourself to anyone until now?" she questioned.

His answer was as deadpan as it was evasive. "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Shayera Hol, than are dreamt of in your philosophies."

She snorted. "Y'know, you could save yourself a lot of breath by just saying, 'Don't ask.'" The faintest of smiles curled at the corner of his thin lips. Well, at least she finally got a reaction out of him.

Her communicator tweeted. She pivoted away, pressing a finger to her ear. "Go ahead." Pause. "Right; I'll debrief you when I arrive. Shayera out." She turned to Fate. "I need to head back."

Fate tossed an arm out wide, a portal of light materializing in front of the trio. "This will take you directly to the Watchtower."

She nodded. "Thanks." She made to leave, then paused to stare at the silent Stranger. "Aren't you coming?"

He shook his head. "The warning has been given – your fates are now your own."

She grimaced as she strode confidently through the gleaming pathway of light. "Thanks for the support."

* * *

Batman surreptitiously watched Gordon stare down at the world that streaked below them from the pressurized cabin. He looked okay, but then, he looked okay when he was diagnosed with Stage-2 pancreatic cancer. Even as his body withered and shrunk from the chemotherapy and the treatments, he always looked like he was stronger for it. Like it was a test he was determined to pass. He wondered if Jim knew how much influence he'd had in the choosing of his doctors. "Hopefully, the engineers behind the explosion will assume that you're dead long enough for the trail to go cold."

Jim snorted quietly, and he couldn't blame him. It wasn't much of a silver lining, but any upside at this point was not to be ignored. "To be honest, I was expecting something like that to happen a little sooner."

Bruce shot him a look over his shoulder that was, for him, downright perplexed.

Gordon cocked an eyebrow. "Don't look so surprised – in this line of work, if people aren't trying to kill you, you're not doing your job right." He shrugged. "So, who _is _trying to kill me this time, anyway?"

"Ra's Al Ghul."

"What?" Jim grunted, confused. "Him? Why?"

"Because your..._affiliation _with me is well-publicized." There was a momentary, clumsy pause before he added, "In short, he's trying to get to me through you."

Jim hummed quietly in understanding. "Good thing you were there, then."

"Good thing," he halfheartedly agreed. He was being stretched too thin. He knew it. And if he knew it, that meant Ra's knew it, too. He couldn't protect Gotham, _and_ Tim, _and_ Barbara, _and_ Lucius, _and_ everyone else that ever had anything to do with him, _while_ trying to find a cure for a virulent disease capable of wiping out humanity, _while _keeping one step ahead of an organized criminal element determined to make that a reality.

He was only human.

At that particular moment, that unfortunate limitation was met with nothing short of red-hot hatred. "J'onn. I need a favor."

_"What is it?" _He sounded aloof – good, John and Shayera wouldn't expect anything out of the ordinary.

"Keep a mental link on Tim and Barbara for me," he requested, glancing behind him. "There was an attempt on Jim Gordon's life tonight; I want to make sure Ra's Al Ghul isn't gunning for anyone else."

_"And where will you be?"_

He felt, more than heard, the curiosity in his voice. He made a point of mentally swatting the Martian away. _ 'Get out of my head, J'onn.'_ "There's something I have to look into. The military has General Rick Flagg leading the operation in Gotham behind the scenes. If he's there, then Amanda Waller won't be far away."

_"Do you believe Waller is behind the rally for martial law?"_

He harrumphed. "No, I'm certain that's entirely Commissioner Loeb's fault, but Waller would jump at the opportunity to regain credibility in higher circles with a successful mission here."

_"What do you think she's planning?"_

"With her? Nothing good." He was still there. Damn him. _'That isn't "out".' _"I'll contact you when I find out something more. Keep in touch. Batman out."

The connection only strengthened. He growled quietly, and sent the psychic equivalent of a Batglare across the link. "J'onn. Stop it. _Now_."

_"Stop what, friend?"_

"Don't be coy,"he snapped. "You were – " His thought-process ground to an instantaneous halt when he felt J'onn's presence lightly touch against his mind, like a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder, as he carefully finished, _'...Reading my mind?'_

He felt the Martian's confusion and his curiosity. It was different than before. Warning bells sounded, loud and baleful. _"I was not. You seemed preoccupied with personal matters; I wouldn't have intruded."_

"I know," he replied distractedly, withdrawing to tentatively feel out the ends of his consciousness to search for...

_'There!' _He snagged the connection in the grasp of his iron-wrought will and severed it violently. Despite himself, a startled gasp of pain hissed through his clenched teeth.

Gordon's head shot up. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," he huffed, exhaling smoothly and silently to dull the warm throb nestled in the back of his skull. It felt like the mental equivalent of someone yanking a chunk of hair out of his head.

J'onn blinked across the link, as bewildered about the situation as he was. _'What was that?'_

_'Our mole,'_ he answered, eyes flashing._'Could you trace where that came from?'_

_'I'm afraid not. I didn't know there was another presence in your mind until you forcibly removed it.'_

His skin crawled beneath the thick weave of his suit. If someone had been secretly tracking all of his movements... _'How many telepaths are you aware of?'_

_'Dozens,'_ came the reply, _'but none that are powerful enough to shield themselves from me.'_

_'How powerful would they have to be to pick information from my mind?'_ he questioned.

_'That is not easy information to discuss,' _J'onn stated.

_'This is important, J'onn; your personal comfort level will have to take a backseat.' _ Besides, he added to himself, he'd apparently had someone riding shotgun in his brain for God only knew how long. He was rewarded with a small mental snort, and he reminded himself that J'onn was still on the proverbial line. _'Well?'_

_'An average mind is of no consequence to interpret,'_ the Martian disclosed, sounding nearly scandalized for it. _'But _your_ mind is...significantly more complex to navigate.' _ He couldn't stop himself from feeling proud of that. _'You have all the markings of a telepath.'_

_'So, we have on our hands an incredibly strong rogue telepath that, presumably, now knows everything that I know.' _ He _knew_ it – he _was _a liability. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he muttered, "Great."

_"Cadmus dealt heavily with the training of telepaths and other metahumans,"_ J'onn offered. _"Someone this powerful would not have missed Waller's eye."_

"No, they wouldn't have," Batman agreed forbiddingly. "I think it's past time that Ms. Waller receives some attention."

* * *

The twittering of her communicator dragged Diana out of a heavy, if troubled, slumber. Opening her eyes with effort, her right hand slapped against the nearby metal bedrest, fingers curling over the ovular device. One eyelid shut without her consent as she plugged the com into her ear canal. "Wonder Woman here." She was inwardly amazed at how cognitive she sounded, because Hera knew, she certainly didn't feel it.

_"Princess. A word."_

Princess. She hadn't heard that from him in four years, now. From anyone else, it was a formality; an honorific with no real significance. From Batman, it was...a caress. Four years, and she still turned to putty from the most insignificant things he did. Some Champion of the Amazons she was. "What is it?"

_"Watch Nightwing."_

Her fore and middle finger massaged her closed eye. She could juggle tanks, but she couldn't hold up an eyelid. She frowned, asking, "For what?"

_"To make sure that he doesn't exacerbate the process and wind up doing the disease's work for it."_

She blinked in confusion, which turned out to be the wrong idea, because the right eyelid succumbed to narcolepsy again after two seconds of movement. "I thought you told him to rest."

_"I have him researching something for me."_

Her slowly kneaded the flesh along the bridge of her nose with her fingertips. "Bruce – "

_"He asked if he could help. Right now, I could use it."_

"What does that have to..." Diana stiffened in the relative comfort of her bed, her ordinarily sharp mind catching his words later than it should have. Grabbing the linen sheet and tugging it from her bare legs, she planted her feet on the cold metal floor. "You're worried no one will be there if something happens."

_"His vitals are wired into everything I have,"_ he riposted clinically. _"If something _does_ happen, I'll know it before _he _does."_

Shaking her head, the six-foot-tall Amazon stood and headed for her stored armor. Why did he have to make everything so difficult? His self-assured posturing wasn't fooling her. "Why do you need me, then?"

_"_I_ don't. _He _will."_

She rolled her cobalt blue eyes skyward. Obstinate man. "With research? I doubt I could help him with that."

_"You being there will help him."_ Her hands stilled along the tiara for a moment. Her first instinct was to feel humility and gratitude for being trusted with his son's health, but knowing Bruce, there was... _"There's evidence that the disease reacts based on psychological state. Looking into Project Cadmus may be ultimately dangerous for his health without a positive counterbalance."_

...Always a logical excuse. She pressed the golden crown against her brow, letting the latent power of Athena's armor seep into her tanned skin. "And you think I could change that?"

_"I know you would." _ Without the hard edge to it, his voice was soulful; warm and compassionate. He probably hated it. _"Will you go?"_

By Hera, this man could yo-yo from one extreme to the other at the drop of a hat. How could she possibly say no? She nodded in the darkness. "Yes, I'll go, but I'm on-call. I can't guarantee how long I can stay."

_"For as long as you can, Princess. That's all I ask."_

She sighed and bowed her head. A little over twenty-four hours ago, this was precisely what she wanted – him reaching out to her for help. It seemed oddly bittersweet, now. She wanted to offer words of encouragement, some consolation, but it sounded hollow even in her own mind, let alone from her lips. She would spare him the indignity of incidental pity. "I'll keep you updated."

The link closed silently. She shook her head. "You're welcome."

* * *

Dying of a contagious disease sucked. There was really no other way to say it.

Dick wound his arms straight above, palms pressed together, and let his chin droop to his chest. Breathing in deeply, he slowly rolled his head along his shoulders, letting gravity stretch the muscles and relieve the joints of unnatural pressure. He was hoping that it would do something about the now steady thrum of prickling pain, like a thousand pissed off fire ants burrowing under his skin, but the only thing the momentary stretch achieved was a satisfying _pop_of his spine realigning itself. Sighing in relief, he let his arms fall limp to his side, just in time to spot the chem-door slide shut.

He folded down the laptop balanced on his knees as he brought a curious gaze to his visitor. "What are you doing here?"

Wonder Woman smiled warmly, pushing back a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You looked lonely. I thought you could use the company."

Wow, she was a really terrible liar, wasn't she? "No offense, Princess, but I haven't gotten many visitors in here. Sure, Flash came by a little earlier with some food, but it turns out you can't fit three boxes of pizza into this little..." He waved his hand to the safety chamber jutting into his containment unit. "...Airlock doorway thing. That's the technical term for it, y'know." Dick flashed her a million-dollar grin. "So, what really brings you here? I'm assuming it's Bruce, because you haven't taken your eyes off of me since you walked in, and you're standing equidistant from both the emergency call button _and _the cell door."

"You may not be a member of the Justice League, but you are a valued ally," she responded plainly. "Is it wrong to be cautious?"

He pursed his lips. "No, but if this _were _your idea – " He pointed nonchalantly to her still-raised hand near her head, " – you wouldn't keep tucking your hair behind your right ear, which is where your League communicator is."

Diana blinked and peered at her treacherous hand, before she rested it against her hip with an appreciative nod of her head. "Batman really did train you well."

He shrugged, waving the compliment off. "I just know how he thinks." He reopened the laptop and scanned another report, the pale blue glow of the monitor distorting the shadows along his gaunt features. "He's worried about me."

She rolled the nearby computer chair to where she stood, sitting down primly. "In his defense, he has good reason to be. How are you feeling?"

He took a deep breath, and stopped halfway through from a line of fire that ran along his ribs. He regarded her amiably, if honestly. "On a scale of one to ten? Like crap." He returned his attention to the screen, his fingers clattering against the keys. "But don't tell Bruce that."

_"Tell me what?"_

He _knew_ that was coming. Closing his eyes in momentary annoyance, he answered, "That Wonder Woman decided to stop by and chat. Want to say hi?"

_"I have her communicator frequency if I need to contact her."_

"I bet you do."

_"What do you have for me?"_

"I'm fine, thanks for asking." Biting back a sigh, he brought up yet another screen, rubbing at his pounding temples. The words were beginning to blur in time with the pulsing in his head. "I've been pouring over all of these confiscated Cadmus files. I can't _believe _what they got away with – cloning, genetic mutation, blackmail...this stuff is all sorts of illegal. I thought the government wasn't supposed to be above the law."

_"Normal people aren't supposed to be above the law, either,"_ Batman rebuffed. _"Find anything about telepaths?"_

"Yeah, lots, but none of it's relevant. Nearly all of the subjects died before testing was complete." Nightwing scoffed lowly, shaking his head. "Those poor people; they probably thought they were getting treated, not weaponized."

_"Did anyone besides Ace survive the testing?" _Bruce grated through the communicator.

"The records aren't complete," he mused, hand in his chin, stark blue eyes hard with concentration, "but it looks like there might be _one_ roaming around."

_"Who?"_

He hummed, shifting to raise one knee and drape his arm over it. "That's funny, this one doesn't have a given name, just a number – 993271-B. His aptitude screenings are off the charts."

_"Stronger than Ace?"_

He wove his fingers through his thick black hair, fingertips massaging the base of his skull. "Tell me which one's Ace out of these hundred of so different files, and – "

_"Forget it."_ Hmph, touchier than usual. He made a mental note to do more research specifically on 'Ace' later. _"Do you have any other information on him? Height, weight, anything?"_

"I have age, that's it. They went to a lot of trouble to hide this one." That struck him as incredibly odd.

Evidently, Wonder Woman agreed with his assessment. "Cadmus documented everything down to the most minute detail. Why would they bend the rules for this one?"

_"We'll find that out later. For now, age."_

Nightwing scrolled down, wiping a hand over his bloodshot eyes. "According to this 'Initial Aptitude Testing' sheet, he's listed as...eleven." The young vigilante leaned back on his bed, feeling he wanted to collapse on its starched sheets and never move. Eleven. By the time _he_ was eleven, he was on the streets as Robin, kicking butt with the big guy himself. He wondered why he wasn't furious with Bruce for bringing him into this kind of life at such an early age – strictly speaking, Bruce's actions were morally and ethically dubious at best, and outright criminal at...slightly _less _than best. But he'd been young, and heartbroken, and angry; and Bruce had been so kind to him in his time of need...

Heh. Go figure, right?

_"Those papers were for new subjects. When was it dated?"_

"May of 2003," he responded. "So, that would make him – what? – sixteen, now? Seventeen?"

_"Around Ace's age." _ There was a nebulous, inarticulate sadness floating amidst the static that pricked at Dick's ears. Oh yeah, he was _definitely_ checking out this Ace character. _"And possibly working for Ra's Al Ghul."_

"Not exactly a step up in terms of employment," he remarked with a small groan as a wave of warm, sharp pain rolled across his body.

The line went silent for the length of three incredibly loud heartbeats _(it felt like he ran a marathon)_ before Batman's stern voice cut in,_"Did you find anything in your lab tests?"_

The throbbing subsided momentarily, and he relaxed his muscles gratefully. He reiterated to himself, and to any telepath or deity that was tuning in, that dying _sucked_. "Nada so far. Any theories on where this goop came from?"

_"I'm working on that,"_ he explained. _"J'onn, Green Lantern, and Shayera have gone back to the Copán site to see if they can gather more clues."_

Dick tossed Diana a curious glance, trying to gauge her reaction on the decision, but to his joined disappointment and approval, he realized that her poker face was almost as good as Bruce's. He must have given her lessons. "But I thought the Lantern didn't find anything."

_"Lantern found plenty. He said that the Lazarus Pit he was held over melted his chains when they came in contact with it."_ He stopped reading the reports, furrowing his brows in confusion. _"Last I checked, steel isn't a living creature. It must have been modified, somehow."_ White noise buzzed awkwardly. _"__Have your symptoms progressed any?"_

He put on a good face – well, voice – for his former mentor. The man had more than enough on his plate. Sure, half of it was his own fault, but he wasn't about to pile his own crap on top of the mound. "No, not really," he lied, staring at the diseased patch of skin that continued to crawl across his flesh. Before it had looked like leopard print; now, it was a solid black stain that nearly looped his entire forearm. He shuddered to think what the rest of his body looked like. "Whatever you gave me seems to be doing the trick for now. Hopefully, it stays that way."

He knew Bruce didn't buy it – not for one second. But it gave him a plausible, if momentary, out from the situation. Given the type of world ker-boom things going on, it was probably the only one he was going to get any time soon. _"It buys you time, at least. We'll have a better game-plan once they get back from Honduras with that sample."_

"If this modified pit eats through stuff, how do you expect them to contain it long enough to get and analyze a sample?"

_"A Green Lantern bubble is impervious to everything."_

He blinked, unsure. "Everything? Are you sure?"

_"Ninety-nine percent sure."_

Dread tingled down his slightly-deadened nerves. All of a sudden, he had a very strong urge to call Tim and make sure he was alright. He hadn't been giving the little squirt his due time lately. Funny, he'd always harped on Bruce for never being there when he felt it counted, and where was _he_ during Tim's abduction? Off-world, on a glorified _babysitting job_. God. Kory had felt so guilty, she swore she'd never ask for his help on an off-world mission again. He didn't turn the offer down. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Diana appraised him, openly trying to discern his words. Bruce just remained stoically silent. He sighed. "Is there anything else I should be looking for?"

_"I'll call you when I've been updated. Until then, don't overwork yourself."_

A dry, sardonic chuckle bubbled up from Dick's throat without really meaning it to. He could practically feel the temperature drop from the glare Batman was giving through the communicator. _"I mean it. Bedrest."_

He wanted to reply with his usual brand of snark and witty repartee, when his tearing up eyes caught an update on the current hacked page that hadn't been there moments ago. Leaning forward to inspect more closely, he hovered the mouse over the link and clicked. He proceeded to go ramrod straight on the bed, fists clenched at his side. "Oh, _man_."

Both Wonder Woman and Batman questioned simultaneously, "What is it?"

"Something just came down the horn from the Defense Department involving Waller," he reported, attention glued to the screen.

_"What did you find?"_

"Trust me," Dick huffed, light blue eyes flickering up to Diana's with barely concealed concern as he waved her over, "you're gonna want to see this for yourself."

* * *

Several hundred miles below the floating satellite, soaring at Mach 3 over Newfoundland, Batman temporarily engaged the bat-shaped fighter jet's auto-pilot as the monitor downloaded the document.

Three-thousand miles away from him, soaring through the canopy of a Honduras jungle, J'onn was suddenly rattled by a vehement wave of murderous rage echoing through his mind. Pressing the fingers of his right hand against his temple, he temporarily severed the connection between himself and Batman. He could only imagine the litany of rarely-used obscenities that were currently churning in the Dark Knight's psyche, and came to the conclusion that he really didn't want to be there to hear them.

John slowed briefly, twisting in the still-humid midnight air to give his friend a once-over. "J'onn? Are you okay?"

"I am," he said with a nod, "but Amanda Waller may not be."

**To be continued...**


	14. 14 The Prince

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Amanda Waller rubbed at her eyes, trudging up the steps to her townhouse in northern Washington, D.C. – her home away from home. It had been an exceptionally long night in a string of long nights. First, she'd been assigned to squeeze her resources to find out more about the disease decimating southern Asia, its risk for outbreak in the United States, and were that to happen, how badly it would affect the already-floundering economy. Good old Washington, she thought bitterly, always about the bottom line.

Her life had gone to Hell when reports of the Leopard Fever in Gotham spread like wildfire. On the plus side, the ensuing state of emergency thrust her back into a position of power, despite their current dislike of her. Frankly, she didn't much give a damn about their personal opinions, so long as they shut up and let her do what needed to be done to ensure the safety of hundreds of millions of Americans. Sometimes, what needed to be done was...less than tasteful, but they were generals, for God's sake; they understood the concept of collateral damage.

Flagg had wanted to meet with her in Gotham, but she nixed his request instantly – that was Batman's backyard, and knowing him, he'd already learned of their involvement in the military operation, if not their intentions. Instead, they'd met at a neutral location in New York to discuss their options. Currently, those options were grim at best. With no cure for the Fever in sight, and the knowledge that it was purposely disseminated, the loss of life was going to be astronomical regardless of whatever solution they found. There were times she hated this job. She massaged her eyes again, unlocking the front door. Sucking in a weary breath, Amanda closed the door with the heel of her shoe as she sightlessly tossed her keys toward the small mail basket resting against the far wall.

They jingled lightly in the air for two seconds, before the sound was cut short abruptly. Her head whipped around. A pair of white eyes glowered back at her, her keys held firmly in an outstretched, gloved fist.

She released her breath in a sigh, unsurprised by his arrival. _'And so, the territorial Alpha arrives to stake his claim.'_

**14.  
The Prince**

She flicked on a nearby table lamp, tugging off her thin jacket. "I was wondering when you would pay a visit," she started amiably, opening a nearby closet and grabbing a wire hanger. She placed the coat on it as she motioned with her head to a chair. "Care to sit down? You must be tired."

"My god, Waller," Batman growled, "you've outdone yourself this time." The keys fell to the antique end-table beside him with a sharp clanking of metal. "Requesting clearance for the use of nuclear ordinance? On _my_ city? You could _pretend _that it was a difficult decision."

She hung up her jacket, closing the off-white sliding door. "It was."

"Bullshit."

That made Waller turn. In all her dealings with him, some of which were far more tense than this, she'd never heard him swear. She still considered the League a possible menace – too much power, too little accountability – but of all the juggernauts within its ranks, she thought Batman was easily the most dangerous. She firmly believed that he was the single smartest, most resourceful and committed creature God had ever put on this Earth. If he truly wanted, he could take this entire world for his own, and not a single soul would be capable of stopping him. That was _not_ a power to be trifled with, and from all current accounts, trifling was _precisely _what Ra's Al Ghul was doing to him. That worried her more than she cared to admit.

She straightened her back, ignoring the kinks, and closed the distance. In two inch heels, she was still eleven inches shorter than him. "Contrary to popular belief, Batman, I don't enjoy making these kinds of decisions," she said, her expression austere, but not without a measure of compassion for his obvious plight. She stiffened her shoulders. "But unlike superheroes, I don't have the luxury of cherry-picking which city I'd like to protect."

His exposed jawline rolled in fury. "You're slaughtering _millions _for no reason."

"It wouldn't be for no reason," Amanda responded, crossing her hands in front of her. "As you know, there's no vaccination for Leopard Fever, and the creation of one in the near future doesn't look likely. If left untouched, Gotham will become a breeding ground for the plague, and within a matter of weeks, if not days, containment _will _break and it will spread to neighboring cities."

"Destroying Gotham won't stop anything," Batman rebuked.

"It wouldn't," she agreed, "but it _would _slow the spread down; long enough for the boys in the CDC to whip up a vaccine."

His eyes became angry slits. "The city was _purposely infected _from an outside source. It doesn't matter _what_ you do – Ra's Al Ghul has _every _city in his sights. Gotham was just the first."

She grimaced, turned, and started toward the nearby walk-in kitchen. "I realize that."

"Do you." The derision in his baritone was palpable.

"I do." She reached for a small teacup. "I also realize that leaving a dead limb attached can kill an otherwise healthy body."

He followed her into the mini-room, his bulk blocking the exit almost entirely – though, that description didn't really fit him. He was...large, larger than life. "This isn't a case of _gangrene_, Waller – these are the lives of ten million people we're talking about. Lives you're _forfeiting_."

She tossed him a glance past her blue-clad shoulder. "As far as the Joint Chiefs are concerned, they're already dead."

He blinked, as if he didn't comprehend her words at first. It was strange, really, seeing that split-second of absolute cluelessness cross his normally rigid, commanding features. The momentary lapse into stunned silence was made up for an emphatic, "Are you _insane_?"

"On the contrary," she retorted, "I have full control of my faculties." She handled the antique china teapot with care, fingers running over the faded flower-print along the ivory sides. "Why do you think I sent the request through the _proper _channels instead of just using my cell phone to call the President?"

He decoded her statement perfectly, as she knew he would. "You were getting my attention."

Waller felt the corner of her lip twitch up. "Not quite as easy to spot as a Batsignal, I'll grant, but it got the job done." A thin trail of steam wafted from the pot as it filled with hot water. "I wanted to give you fair warning that we're both officially on-the-clock – a highly-toxic, highly-contagious virus has been introduced on American soil, and the government must act in the best interest of _everyone_, not just the unfortunate few."

The heartbeat of silence that followed was absolutely deafening. "Tell that to the 'few'."

She frowned, suddenly feeling every ache deep in her bones. "I don't like the thought of it, either. Believe me. Those are American citizens up there, and they're in dire need of aid. I would like to extend that aid in any way that I can." She sighed, sliding the teapot onto burner and setting it. "But, what I _like _is irrelevant to the reality of the situation. We're facing a pandemic of Black Plague proportions – and worse, it was intentionally cultivated as a weapon for a known terrorist network that the Defense Department has been trying to crack for almost thirty years." Her frown deepened. "Our latest attempt was found somewhere off the coast of Guam. In pieces."

She shifted, opening a cupboard door and straining to reach the small box of chamomile that had somehow gotten shoved all the way into the back of the pantry. Her fingertips brushed the corner of it, before the box skittered away from her. Gritting her teeth, she leveraged further on the counter to grab it. "And if he managed to slip something like this past _you _– "

Her breath hitched when she felt his right hand on her wrist _(his hold was surprisingly gentle) _as he reached his left into the cubby. He looked down at her, looming ominously, visage hard and unreadable. It occurred to her, then, that she was trapped in a small enclave of a sound-proofed building by a highly-skilled vigilante who saw her as a direct threat to the safety and security of his beloved city. He could strike her down now, effectively stopping that nuke before it got off the ground, and she would have no means at all with which to defend herself. She would've taken the shot without hesitation.

Instead, he held out the tea container for her to take. "There are other ways, Waller," he reasoned, his voice quiet; soothing, almost. "You know that, or you wouldn't have had me come here."

"You're right." Amanda plucked the box from his grip and set it down on the counter. "Let's hear them."

"I have a lead on the plague and Ra's Al Ghul's whereabouts," he explained. "If you want an antigen, Waller, I can give you one – but I'll need time to make it."

"Time is a commodity that no one can afford right now," she declared softly. "Going through official channels was the best I could do without arousing suspicion." His expression darkened. Her mood soured. "If I don't do the job, they'll replace me with someone who will – I'm affording you every opportunity I can find."

He appraised her silently for a moment. "How long before your bosses give you the go-ahead on the nuke?"

She answered out of rote, "That's classified."

She found herself backing into the counter, the sharp edge digging painfully into her ribs, when Batman leaned down over her, his _bulk _stifling her with an air of impatience. The ability to shift his demeanor at a pin-drop was dizzying. She recognized that violating her personal space was a means of putting her on edge. Unfortunately for her, it was working pretty damned well, too. "I'll get the information one way or another," he assured in a deadly hiss. "But every minute I waste hacking government files could be time spent on working up an antidote."

She detected a small whiff of iron and copper mingled with something distinctly sharp. "Don't threaten me," she ordered, channeling her shock into outrage, and that outrage into fighting spirit. She glared up at him, poking a well-manicured index finger into his chest. The material of his cape was both rough and smooth. She wasn't sure why that intrigued her. "You want to save your city? Then _give me real options_. I don't want to drop a nuke on US soil anymore than you want to see it dropped, but I won't needlessly endanger the lives of three-hundred million people on the _prayer _of an antidote. I'll do what has to be done."

"What has be done," he repeated with disdain, voice whip-tight. "Do you really think that the rest of the world isn't going to notice Gotham going up in a mushroom cloud? What if you miss? One single infected person survives, and ten million people will have died for _nothing_," he seethed. "They're _already _dying for nothing." He scowled, a gesture of churning, boiling rage that would flay the flesh from her bones, were it a corporeal object and not the psychological by-product of his repressed emotional state.

On cue, the teapot whistled, steam jettisoning from the spout in a hot rush.

_'Don't I know it,' _she thought despondently.

"I need _time_, Waller," Batman emphasized. "How long do I have?"

Though _he _certainly didn't believe it, what she said was true – she didn't want to become a mass-murderer of the very citizens she was hired to protect. If anyone could find a solution, it was Batman. She'd have to trust him. Amanda sighed, backing down. "Twenty-four hours," she answered tiredly. "I can stall them, maybe buy you another day, at most. That's all I can give you." Again, her eyes met his fearlessly, unwilling to be truly cowed by anyone, even the great Dark Knight Detective. "After that, we go our own ways."

He removed himself from her personal space, the rush of cold air causing goosebumps to prickle her skin beneath her dress jacket. "If it comes to that," he warned, "you know I'll stop you."

She nodded. "You do what you have to do, and I'll do what I have to."

He gave no outward reaction, whatever anger she saw a scant few seconds prior vanishing beneath that rough-smooth black cloak that smelled faintly of blood and sweat. For his sake, if not for the sake of humanity itself, she only hoped that she wouldn't have to live up to her own bold words. She pivoted to grab a small pouch of tea from the box, slowly dipping it into the hot water. "Would you like some – "

He was gone. Of _course _he was gone. "Good luck."

* * *

The four descended into the underground stronghold cautiously. "If there are Society of Shadows members here, they'll likely already know that we've arrived and will be planning accordingly," Talia said, unholstering her gun defensively as she carefully scanned the walls and ceiling for any hidden threats. "We must move quickly."

In silent agreement with her assessment, they hastily made their way down the single long corridor that stretched before them. Green Lantern pointed to the hallway on their left at the intersection. "I came from that hallway over there."

Shayera's piercing green eyes wandered to the hallway opposite of John's hand, noting that it had no doorways or adjoined corridors that she could see. "Hey, what's down this hallway?"

John shrugged, waiting for her to join the others. "I wasn't really looking at the décor as I was leaving."

Her full lips twisted in annoyance, jerking her head toward the oddly barren hall. "Who builds a dead-end hallway with no rooms in a secret underground stronghold?" Without waiting for a response, she glided down the passageway, knowing that the rest would come along, if only to sate their own curiosity or prove her wrong.

Several seconds later, her yellow boots touched down on the grimy concrete floor lightly, the slate gray wall standing imposingly in front of her, twelve feet across and ten feet tall. Slipping her mace into her belt loop, she strode forward and pressed her hands firmly against the cold stone. Talia watched the display with impatience. "I've seen the blueprints for this compound; there is no doorway here. I would know."

John stared at her coolly. "You didn't know your father was making a _plague _– what else don't you know?"

Her icy blue eyes hardened, but whatever riposte she was preparing was cut off by a triumphant Shayera declaring, "Wait – there _is _a passage." She glanced over her shoulder quickly, her fingers splayed oddly against the natural grooves of the rock. "I can feel it in the walls."

She stepped aside as John carefully ran a wide beam across the pitted stone wall, the hidden door turning luminescent green underneath its scrutiny. "She's right. J'onn?"

He nodded, his form fading through the doorway. Moments later, the walls churned and rattled as the false wall slid back to reveal a dimly lit, sterile metal corridor that seemed never-ending. Shayera glanced distrustfully at the door when her feathers brushed against the frame, muttering, "It just isn't a secret base without an _extra_-secret lair that nobody knows about."

J'onn queried, "What about the tainted pit?"

"It's not going anywhere," John answered. "This might be something important."

"Or it might be another trap."

The once-Hawkgirl graced them with a wolfish grin. "In a place like this? It goes without saying."

"Long walk," John said with a frown as he spied the hallway stretching on into what looked like forever. "How far do you think it goes?"

"One way to find out," Shayera replied as she slipped her arms under Talia's, who gasped in surprise, before they both took off at breakneck speed.

J'onn curled his lips slightly. "She's decisive."

"She's impatient." His ring lit up, coating himself in energy. "She could get us all killed."

They both shot forward to catch up to the Thanagarian. "It's good to see that your working relationship is still as abrasive as ever."

"I'm not the abrasive one," John muttered.

J'onn smiled and passed him. "Of course not."

* * *

Diana sat on the computer chair, her attention switching from Nightwing, to his vitals, and back. Disliking the feeling of helplessness that was beginning to creep into her veins, she stood and went to an adjacent computer terminal. Her fingers easily danced over the keys as she typed out the name, 'Robin'. Entering her security clearance as prompted, the monitor flashed momentarily, as if debating whether or not it thought her trustworthy _(whether or not _Batman_ thought her trustworthy)_, and eventually, relented. Fascinated, she watched and read what scrolled up in front of her.

_Accessing..._

_**[Robin I]  
**__Name: Grayson, Richard  
DoB: March 8, 1978  
Bloodtype: O-  
Current Status: Active (Alias: __Nightwing__)  
First appearance: May 9, 1988  
Last appearance: June 2, 2000  
Abilities: Master in various forms of hand-to-hand and armed combat; prefers unarmed martial arts, but will use any item available to adapt as a weapon, if need be. Well-versed in fields such as criminology, psychology, forensics, ballistics, toxicology, chemistry, physics, and escapology, and is a master of disguise. Highly-keen sense of observation and deductive reasoning. Displays natural leadership, diplomacy, and teamwork skills; often able to rally the assistance of otherwise-unwilling participants.  
Threat level: __**Omega-1**_

Nightwing as an Omega-1 threat? That rating was saved for the likes of Superman, J'onn, and herself. Certainly, he would be dangerous if he went rogue, but...

_Additional notes: Has superior fighting prowess, and equal-to-superior detective skills to Batman; is also an unparalleled acrobat._

She started, gaping at the screen to make sure she'd read it correctly. Did Bruce actually write that Dick Grayson was a better Batman than _Batman_? That showed a tremendous amount of respect for him; Batman was nothing if not painfully, brutally, cruelly honest in his analytical assessment of his teammates. Frankly, the statement disturbed her slightly. She continued on.

_Has memorized counter-measures for each of the seven core members of the Justice League, with tertiary-to-detailed knowledge of takedown methods for every other standing member on the roster. Has one hell of a right hook._

The last line made her lips twitch in surprised humor as she glanced over her shoulder. No wonder Bruce's file on him was so glowing; it took strength to stand up to one's mentor. The ghost of a smile fell. Or, perhaps, it only took incredible frustration. Her gaze washed over the young man who slumbered fitfully, hissing and grunting in pain every few moments from the disease that was eating him – and in turn, Bruce – alive from the inside out. There had to be _something _she could do.

The air chilled abruptly, her nose catching the minor scent of ozone. Whirling around, she came face-to-face with a mysterious figure cloaked in blue. She immediately dropped into a defensive stance, guarding the unit door protectively. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

The visitor raised a single gloved hand, hidden features stoic. "Fear not, Diana of Themyscira, I mean you no harm." The hand briefly touched the circular golden crest on his chest. "I am called Phantom Stranger."

Warily, she evaluated him, making note of his height, weight, and build; quickly doing the math on how much force she would have to exert to break every bone in his body, if the need arose. She was tasked to guard Batman's son, and she would not fail him – _either _of them. "You were the one that talked to Shayera."

He nodded. "I am."

Her eyes remained distrusting. "You told her you couldn't help us directly."

"I can't."

"Then why are you here?" Diana demanded.

"To help _in_directly."

His voice was familiar, somehow; it calmed her in ways she didn't fully understand or trust. She relaxed her stance slightly, chin lifted regally. "With what?"

A pair of unnerving white eyes met hers. "Saving Batman's soul."

_**To be continued...**_


	15. 15 Sors Salutis

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Wonder Woman stared evenly at Phantom Stranger, unwilling to remove herself from blocking the containment unit. Her body language, at first glance, was one of acceptance, but the hand that remained poised inches from her mystical lasso belied the wariness of a veteran warrior and skilled tactician. Her innate concern for Bruce and his loved ones only heightened her desire to protect them.

Of course, Stranger's words to her didn't help, either. "You have known Batman for quite some time. You've seen the change in him, and it worries you."

Her gaze hardened. "Suppose that's true – why is Batman's health any concern of yours?"

"My concern lies with all of humanity," he stated. "Batman will be vital in ensuring your victory against Ra's Al Ghul's machinations."

"You see the future," she declared.

"I see many possible futures," he corrected evenly. "All of the best outcomes have one common denominator – Batman plays an integral part in each of them."

She stilled her fingers before they could twitch towards her lasso. "What does all of this have to do with me?"

"You and Superman are the two outsiders he trusts the most. He will need you both." Diana quietly fumed at the label 'outsider' while his attention turned to the golden twine looped at her side. "You can verify my claims with your lasso, if you wish."

Her hand moved instinctively to her side to do just that as she regarded the mysterious figure in front of her, but stopped shy of unwinding the cord for use. There was something about his words that struck a chord within her. She wasn't clairvoyant, but it was plain to see how important Batman was to solving this crisis – how important he was to his friends and family. If anything went wrong...

The Stranger tilted his head slightly. "You care for him deeply."

She couldn't help but briefly glance behind her. "So do many others. Why come to me?"

Phantom Stranger took two long steps forward, stopping within arm's reach of her. What she could make out of his expression was...almost _warm_. "No one can ignore you, Diana. Especially not Batman."

She nearly snorted. As it was, a fine eyebrow shot up in acerbic amusement. "What do you call the last four years, then?"

"Fear."

**15.  
Sors Salutis  
**

Diana paused, letting his words sink in. In her heart of hearts, she knew he was right, but to hear it spoken aloud so bluntly never the less sat poorly with her. Her first knee-jerk reaction was to defend Batman's actions against this stranger, because he wasn't fit to accuse such a fearsome warrior with such an ugly term. But the truth was, unfortunately, rarely pretty, and she tempered the urge to retaliate with Athena's granted wisdom. "What do you propose I do?"

"Fight him."

"Fight him? How will that help?"

"Batman is losing his way," he said matter-of-factly. "He needs someone to keep him on the right path – someone who is willing to stand up to him, that he can't drive away."

"Someone like me." A curt nod. "What about Superman?"

"He has a different role to play in all of this."

Annoyance tightened her features, her royal upbringing and Amazon heritage sharing a common hatred of dancing around a subject. "It's clear you know what the most likely outcome is, so why not simply tell me?"

"I'm forbidden to."

Her hand gripped the lasso firmly. "I can _make _you tell me."

"You wish to divine the future?" He raised his left hand, the material of the glove such a stark white that it appeared luminescent, and gently pressed a long, steady finger to the center of her forehead. The warmth and brightness saturated her, levity tinging down her limbs and whorls of patterned spots dancing in her blurring vision. "You must first study the past."

Too soon, the warmth turned burning and the brightness turned blinding, and she felt her limbs prickle with the latent electricity of beings far stronger than her. Her mind opened, broadened, was flattened and then stretched, as the knowledge of this man – this _creature _– abruptly became her own.

Diana was too far gone to hear herself scream.

* * *

Selina Kyle was unusually apprehensive. One would never know it by looking at her, but her sharp mind was abuzz with contingencies and outright worst-case scenarios. She'd seen Batman come through her window.

That he arrived on her balcony, in an of itself, wasn't an incredible shock; the city was in danger, and he was likely checking in on all of his little Rogues to ensure they were good and secure while he dealt with the crisis of the week. It was that she'd _seen _him arrive on the balcony, a looming shadow that detached itself from the night sky long enough for her to spot the pointy ears poking through the satin drapes. She couldn't place the reason why, but it set her teeth on edge.

Currently, she laid casually sprawled across the end of her queen-sized bed, with her right arm propping her head up and her left resting sensually on her round hip, jade green eyes taking in the Dark Knight's ever-immaculate silhouette. It had been so long since they'd had one of their special tete-a-tete's, and she missed it _(and him)_. "I'm surprised to see you here," she murmured demurely, sliding to a sitting position with her legs tucked under her, "what with the way Gotham's being assaulted and all."

"I want you to leave town." Right to the point, as always.

"No need to run me out after I just got back, Batman. This kitty knows when to keep her claws retracted," she purred with a grin. "And besides, you _did_ miss my birthday." Her _fortieth _birthday. She resolved to never say those words aloud, to anyone, ever.

His stance remained unchanged. "For your own protection."

She snorted with a wave of her hand. "I can take care of myself. Anyway, how am I supposed to get out?" She nodded towards the open window, with its sheer curtains billowing from the soft wind. If it hadn't carried with it the faint smell of ash, it would have almost been romantic. "The military has the entire city sealed up tighter than a drum."

His cape rippled open, a large gloved hand holding a small slip of paper in front of her. Knitting her brows, Selina pulled it away and gawked at Batman's distinctive scrawl. "Your chicken-scratch is as bad as a doctor's," she quipped with a quirk of her lips.

He almost looked flustered. "I've arranged for a flight out of a private airstrip on the south side; it leaves at 5:30 on the dot, no questions asked. Your ride arrives in an hour – pack your bags."

"I can read your handwriting, you know," she retorted, waving the post-it in the air.

He blinked. "Then why – "

She smiled, all Chesire cat. "I like making you blush."

It could have been a trick of the light – or the lack of it – but she would swear until the end of her days that she saw a fine misting of bright pink color his exposed cheeks. Long legs unwinding, she rose from the bed and ambled over to him, her red silk robe swishing about her legs and catching the minimal light. "I appreciate what you're doing for me – really," she backpedaled, his unique scent tickling her sinuses as she lifted one hand to brush against that gorgeous, stained cheek of his, "but you know how much I hate playing the damsel in distress."

A small hiss escaped her when his right hand, strong and sure, suddenly clamped down on her wrist and pulled her arm away before contact could be made. In the same motion, his left roughly tugged the fabric of her sleeve up to her shoulder. She gasped when she laid eyes upon small splotches of purple and black, like bruises, dotting the inside of her upper arm. Sneering, she muttered, "What are _those_?"

His gloved fingers traced over the unsightly aberrations, as if he were memorizing where they were. She gaped up at him confusedly. She had rarely ever seen him so tender with any injuries on her person. "Batman?"

Her eyes locked with his. They were filled with grief as his hands slid from her am and came to rest, heavily, on her shoulders. "You've been infected, Selina."

She tensed under his warm palms as understanding descended upon her. "But, how is that possible? I didn't – "

"It was in the water," he growled, fingers curling into the red silk slightly. "Most of the city is infected with it, by now."

Well, then. No wonder his entrance was so sloppy.

Batman put pressure on the heels of his palms, guiding her back onto the bed. From her sitting position, she craned her neck up in a strange mixture of irritation and hunger – she hated being manhandled, but every touch from him was measured and precise, and absolutely _electric_. "Stay here." He turned, cape swirling, and strode away.

Irritation took the lead, crossing her leg and arms with a dour expression, the smooth fabric falling away from the shapely muscles of her knee and calf. "I feel fine."

"You do now," he said from the eat-in kitchen as he leaned down to examine the contents of her refrigerator, "but the disease works quickly. You'll need to eat and drink something with enough nutrients to temporarily boost your immune system."

Her lips twitched, then tugged into a smirk, when she took in the bizarre, impossible banality of watching _Batman _rummaging through her fridge. "What, you don't have an anti-plague repellant in that belt of yours?"

He twisted his head to glare sideways at her, the florescent lighting streaking ominous black shadows across the valleys of his face.

Selina didn't back down, not really. Instead, she sidestepped the touchy subject with, "If slowing this thing down was as simple as eating all my fruits and vegetables, I don't think it would be this big of an issue."

He returned his attention to the fridge. "Every extra precaution you take can be the one that saves your life," he stated as he pulled out a quart of milk and, flicking the cap off with this thumb, carefully brought the open carton to his nose. He jerked his head away with a small noise of disgust. "This milk is bad, Selina. How long has it been sitting in here?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "I usually don't eat at home."

He replaced the cap with a scowl and plunked the carton, still half-full of curdled milk, into the trashcan. "I noticed."

"You know, there's such a thing as recycling," she remarked with an arched eyebrow. He ignored her and started rifling through her nearly bare cabinets. "You're incorrigible."

_Creak._ "I've been called worse." _Thunk_.

She sighed quietly and stood, heading to a nearby closet to slip on a pair of black nylon gloves. If the news reports were right, they said Leopard Fever was passed through skin-to-skin contact. Adjusting them across her fingers, she flexed her hands once and listened to the sound of whining hinges and wooden doors closing as she made her way to the dining room. She was touched by his desire to help her, but he had to have known it was fruitless.

By the time she reached him, he'd evidently exhausted his search and now stood, arms wide and head stooped, leaning on the counter. She'd never seen him look so embattled. She rested a hand on his upper back, and savored the feeling of his coiled muscles beneath the cape and armor. She smiled slightly. "Looks like my trip's been canceled."

He shook his head. "You're going."

She bristled. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"No."

"I'd be a danger to other people," she exclaimed.

"Since when do _you _care about other people?" he snapped, glowering at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Since when do you _not _care about other people?" she retorted just as hotly, manicured nails digging into his trapezius.

"Selina – " Batman looked away, his shoulders going lax under her fingertips. After a few tense moments of her waiting for him to defend or explain himself_ (and wondering why she thought she'd ever get either)_, he inhaled deeply and straightened his back.

He then proceeded to bring a hand to his cowl and yank it off.

The only coherent thought that passed through Selina's mind was that she didn't remember Bruce's eyes ever being _that _blue.

* * *

Tim Drake flexed weakly against the thick leather straps that bound him to the table, squinting from the harsh lights of the examination room he was currently trapped in. Time had lost all meaning a while ago, becoming something horrifically fluid, as the Joker and his girlfriend tried to make him crack. Well, they were in for some disappointment, because he wasn't going to. He was Robin, a hero – heroes didn't break under pressure. Besides, Batman was looking for him, he knew it.

He couldn't completely ignore the voice, quiet and cold and treacherous in the back of his mind, though. It asked why Batman hadn't rescued him, yet. It told him, plainly, that he couldn't hold out for too much longer, and wondered if this operation theater was going to be his grave. It admitted to being afraid, of being lost, of succumbing to the toxic brew that he could feel pulsing like fire through his veins.

He had to hold out. Batman was coming.

Bruce was coming.

He was.

Robin tugged at his bonds again, and was surprised when he saw them give, the brown rawhide inching just a tiny bit along the brass buckle. Through the constant green haze that clung at the edges of his vision, he studied the belt intensely, carefully testing it again. The leather creaked in protest, but never the less slid another inch out, the tarnished golden prong being lifted. Hope flared, bright and dangerous, in his chest.

Feverishly, his cloudy blue eyes scanned the room and surrounding area, praying that he wasn't being watched _(again)_. Once he concluded he was by himself, he ground his teeth and forced his stiff and sore limbs to cooperate. He fervently rocked his wrist against the leather, sweat burning against the raw skin that was being steadily worn away by his frantic pace. Five minutes passed before his right restraint triumphantly popped from the buckle. Grunting, he yanked twice more and watched the brown leather strip unfurl completely, exposing the skin to a gust of cold, stale air. It felt glorious.

Another quick scan of the area revealed he was still thankfully alone, and he clumsily gripped the left strap, fingers unwilling to work up the fine motor skills required to grab the belt successfully on the first try. "Come on," he growled, slapping his hand against the table roughly, jolting the extremities awake. It seemed to do the trick, as his fingertips slid underneath the rawhide with little muss, tugging the strap free. Arms quaking from the adrenaline, the weeks of weakness, and the newly-emboldened terror, he reached down and repeated the process for his legs. His feet connected with the ground harshly, the shockwave traveling up the length of his body as the message – the hope – was finally driven home.

For the first time in two weeks, Robin was free to fly!

Shakily, he bounded through the operation theater door and tore down the dank, poorly-lit corridor. Rats squeaked and skittered out of his way, puddles of bacteria-ridden water splashing under his bare feet as he ran; his hearing was filled with the discord of his pounding heart and harsh, ragged breathing. Faintly, he smelled the sharpness of seawater, and knew that he was close to exiting the horrible, partially demolished asylum. His face a mask of crazed determination, he forged on, leaping over caved-in walls and scampering across debris.

It was pitch black out, with nary a star in the sky – a perfect night to patrol in. He reached one pale, skeletal arm out for the reinforced steel door guarding the front of the complex, the sting of overjoyed tears just beginning to make themselves known.

Hah. And here Bruce thought he wasn't fit to be Robin.

_(Wait, when did Bruce ever say he wasn't fit to be Robin?)_

His momentary confusion, split-second long as it may have been, was enough to avoid deflecting the flying kick aimed towards his side from a red and black clad figure. He hit the corridor wall hard, sliding down the slime-covered stone to the ground with a groan. He looked up and saw Harley Quinn, all smiles, with her left arm akimbo, and her right brandishing an oversized mallet that laid casually over her shoulder. "Ah-ah-ah, Bird Brain!" she tutted with an exaggerated wag of her finger. "Mistah J's not finished with your lesson yet."

No. He was _so close_. He wasn't going to give up his chance at freedom now.

Tim rose to his feet, jaw and fists clenched, and settled into a defensive stance against the wall. He felt the tremors in his shoulders and thighs, realizing that he stood little chance of going toe-to-toe with her in his state. He decided to stall – for what, he didn't know. Something. Anything. "I got a few lessons of my own," he said defiantly with a belligerent nod of his head. "Wanna learn them firsthand?"

She shook her head, like an exasperated mother that was stuck with an unruly child to rear. "Such a naughty, undisciplined student! You oughtta be _lucky _that my Puddin' decided to take you under his wing."

"I have another wing to be under, thanks," he jibed with a sour grin. _(Why did it feel so strange?)_

"What, Bat-breath?" she mocked with a guffaw. "He got sick of the other little bird, and that one was actually _smart_. What makes you think he'd even bother comin' after _you_?"

He didn't dignify her remark with a response. Instead, he lunged forward, arm snapping out to catch her in the face. She sidestepped easily, holding her foot out. He almost smirked – like clockwork. He hopped over the outstretched leg and whirled on his heel, darting behind her and back down the hallway he just came from. "Wha – _hey_! Get back here!"

He took a right and dove behind what remained of a cell wall, hunkering small into the crevice, holding his breath and refusing to blink. Harley raced harmlessly past him, turning a corner with her hammer held high and shrieking threats. He wasted no time, slipping back around and continued back towards the front gate. He stumbled, breath in his throat, when his eyes fell upon a shadow that was retreating through the now-open steel doors at the end of the hallway. "Batman!"

He halted briefly, pivoting to stare over his shoulder.

Tim skidded to a halt at the disapproving glare. What did he...? Hesitantly, he took an unsteady step forward. "Batman?"

His eyes narrowed, gaze raking over his weakened – and very unmasked – form.

Heat flared across Tim's face, shame welling up to replace the assurance that had been there a mere moment before. He took another two steps, reaching a hand out. "Batman, I – this isn't what it – I didn't say – "

He smartly turned on his heel and stalked off.

Tim's legs burned as he pumped them at a furious pace, trying to chase Bruce down before he exited the building. The terror he valiantly fought against wedged itself firmly in between his ribs. No no no no, he survived the Joker for so long, he wouldn't, he _couldn't_–

"Batman! Where are you going? Wait!" His eyes stung as his words echoed without response. This couldn't be happening – "Batman, _please_! I didn't..." – this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening...

He reached the gate, harried gaze flickering across the desolate, pitch-black expanse of the asylum grounds to find himself completely, inexorably alone. He didn't notice the tears that crested over his lower eyelids and began to slide down his too-pale cheeks.

Batman left him.

Bruce _left _him.

He felt something in him break as the ground suddenly rushed up to meet him, gravel and dirt tearing at his pallid face and quaking hands. Tim was roughly rolled onto his back with the toe of a black shoe, and he sightlessly stared at the gleefully triumphant clown-girl. He didn't care. _He left he left he left he left he left he left he _–

"No leavin' the school premises before the bell rings!" Harley's feet slid across the concrete steps, her body's center of gravity lowered closer to the ground as she hefted her gigantic hammer in both hands. She grinned viciously. "Looks like _somebody _needs a time-out."

The mallet flew.

Tim Drake gasped, flying into a sitting position with a cry caught in his too-dry throat. His terrified blue eyes darted from shadow to shadow, pooling long and thick like bloodstains around the corners of his darkened apartment bedroom, fruitlessly trying to find the source of his terror _(salvation?) _within them. He blinked once, gulping back the urge to scream, and brought a quaking hand to his damp brow.

A dream. A dream. That was all. Old clams. Just bad memories.

He had half a mind to call up Batman and say the nastiest things. He'd sure get a laugh out of –

Tim clamped his eyes shut, pressing his fists against his temples. No, he was _not _the Joker, he was...

A chuckle hissed through his clenched teeth. No Bird Boy here, anymore. Just ol' Timmy-boy. Just another loser. Just another faceless killer, skulking in the crowd, acting like a civilized little monster.

No. _No_.

He opened his eyes wide, gulping a large, unnecessary breath. He needed some air.

He threw the sheets aside and unsteadily rose to his feet, eyes glancing to his desk briefly before he padded to his closet to throw on some clothes. Running his hand through his still damp hair, he walked out into the darkened living room. The television was still on, quiet background noise as he made his way to the kitchen for some opened the refrigerator door blearily. Guess Barb _did _raid his fridge, after all. He picked up a slice of pizza from the box, taking a large bite out of it. His face screwed up in distaste, but he swallowed it, anyway, tossing the rest of the slice into the nearby trashcan. He slammed the fridge door and leaned heavily on it, wishing he could feel the coolness of the insulated appliance through the warm plastic coating. He needed to cool down. It felt like his head was on fire. Rubbing at his temples, he turned and –

His eyes, better than most, caught the shadow out of the corner of his eye right before the fist landed.

* * *

If Bruce were honest with himself, he would concede that there were situations rarely more confusing and agonizing than loving two incredibly different women, and that secret identities, private crusades, and daily life-and-death situations only compounded the issue. If he were honest, he would admit to himself that the thought of Selina dying, no matter how remote the chance of failure might have been, was enough to override the clear and present danger that her current..._situation _posed to potentially dozens of innocent bystanders if he went through with evacuating her. Horrifying as it was, he would also admit that he simply didn't give a damn, because he was desperately in love with her.

If he were honest, he would realize that even as he acknowledged how strongly he felt for her, his thoughts still invariably wandered to Diana and how much she didn't deserve this kind of betrayal; in spite of him rebuffing her every advance and heartfelt confession – in spite of him hurting her, over and over again, in profoundly deep ways. If he were honest, he would come to understand, in a sudden flash of insight, that as dearly as he loved Selina Kyle, he loved Diana of Themyscira that much more – that he would literally do _anything_ for her. And if he were _really_ honest, he would wonder why all of this decided to crop up _now_, when Gotham was poised on the brink of destruction by a madman and a handful of cold-hearted, Machiavellian bureaucrats.

Denial was a beautiful thing.

"Bruce..." Selina whispered, mouth agape. He silently waited for the slap, and when she raised her hand – now gloved, he noted – he didn't move to block the blow. After all, he deserved it – Bruce Wayne was one of Selina Kyle's closest friends, and her one true confidant since arriving to Gotham. He was surprised, then, when her fingers trailed down the side of his face, stopping to cup his chin lightly with her thumb and forefinger. "I _knew _there was more to you than meets the eye."

He raised a brow. "You mean, you're _not_going to claw my eyes out for lying to you all this time?"

"Well, you never actually said you _weren't _Batman."

The corner of his lip curled up. Irony.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"It's nothing." He refocused his attention on her, now without the benefit of the mask, and reasoned, "You have to trust me, Selina. You'll be safer outside of the city."

"Safer from what?" she retorted. "I'm already infected, what else do you expect to happen?"

He debated on filling her in. He summarily denied it. "It can always get worse."

Her green eyes narrowed, glinting like jades. "You're hiding something."

He stepped away from the counter, cape fluttering in his wake. He couldn't remember the last time he wore the suit without the mask. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters enough for you to smuggle me out of a locked-down city." Selina used her smaller size and slid herself between him and the kitchen archway, arms pressed against either wall. "Tell me what's going on." He debated putting her into a submissive arm-lock from his current position to get past. He denied that, too. "If you don't, I'm going to go out there and find out myself."

He casually slipped under her arm and around her body. She tried to elbow him on the way out, and then knee him in him in the stomach _(or worse) _when he easily blocked the blow. Her kneecap connected with the wooden archway with a pronounced _thump_. _'I bet _that_ had to smart.'_"You'll be gunned down before you get anywhere near their base camp."

The far window gave him clear view of Selina licking her wound with as much dignity as she could muster. "I'm much better at espionage than you think. But, just in case I'm not, you might want to spill the beans."

Bruce wished he could say that she was always true to her word, but more often than not, she wasn't. She _was_, however, stubborn enough to follow through with her threat if she thought she was being lied to. Which, he supposed, he was; lying by omission. He wasn't sure if he could drag her out of whatever mess she got herself into this time, so he decided to err on the side of caution. "The US government has authorized the use of nuclear weapons on Gotham."

"_What_?"

He glanced behind him; Selina's expression was – rightfully – one of complete shock. "_Now _do you understand why I want you to leave?"

She blinked three times, mouth working soundlessly. Finally, she murmured soberly, "You don't think you're going to win."

Failure was _not _an option. "I'm planning for every possibility. That's all."

"Oh really?" she huffed, hands on her hips. "Have you planned for what's going to happen when infect a hundred people the moment I land..." She fumbled for words. "..._Wherever _it is I'm going to land? Did you think I wouldn't get infected like everyone else? You knew how it spread," she accused, "why didn't you – I don't know – leak it to the media or something?"

"I didn't know what it was until everyone else did," he answered defensively. It was a poor excuse.

"_You _didn't know something beforehand?" she scoffed archly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you picked a bad time to start slipping."

"_Selina_," he hissed angrily before he forced himself to fall silent, molars grinding against each other as the guilt drew a line through his chest. She was right, of course; he _should _have known beforehand. Because of his error in judgment, millions of lives were slated to be lost in a mushroom cloud before Monday morning rush hour traffic. It was inexcusable.

Her expression softened as she laid a hand softly upon his knotted shoulder. It brought him no comfort. "Bruce – " She paused, then chuckled quietly with a shake of her head. "Bruce," she murmured again to herself. "It all makes sense now." She looked askance at him. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

He stared blankly out the window. "Would it have made a difference?"

"Of course it would have," she said. "I would've known who you really are."

He tilted his head to catch her in his sights. "I already showed you who I really was."

"What, Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy fop who couldn't even tie his own shoelaces? That's not you." Something hot and thick bubbled up from deep within, something he didn't even know existed until now. Here he was, _unmasked _– being completely honest with someone for once in his life, letting her see him in all his endlessly complicated and painfully lonesome glory, and she was being purposely obtuse. It galled him.

"The Bruce Wayne that said he cared about you _was_," he growled. His voice was low, but it rumbled and shook with the same kind of destructive energy that was behind every volcano. "Every time you saw me in private, Selina, every time I talked with you, every time I didn't have to put on a _show_, that was _me_." Above all else, he'd held the faintest hope that _she _of all people would understand. "I'm more than just the mask."

Her grip on his shoulder tightened. "Fine. Then take everything involving Batman out of your life and tell me what's left."

Bruce blinked, then bowed his head in defeat, his anger turning inward.

He was wrong. She _did _understand.

Her aristocratic features fell. "I know there's more to you than this – " She ran her fingers over the black symbol on his chest with a sigh, " – but I'm not sure _you_ know there is." He didn't answer; he didn't have one to give. He felt her palm against his cheek again, turning his head to face her – Selina, with her beautiful eyes and razor sharp mind. "I always respected what you did," she confessed with a smirk. "I thought you were _crazy_, but I admired your dedication."

He harrumphed. "You had a funny way of showing it."

"So did you." Her eyes locked with his, her thumb running over his lips with something akin to reverence. Slowly, she gripped the silken red cloth of her loose sleeve in her hands and gently folded the soft material over the lower half of his face. He didn't recall giving the order to lean down for her benefit, but he did, anyway, head tilted and stormy blue eyes catching the light from the kitchen in a way that made them incandescent. He was tired and alone, and God only knew if he was still going to be alive in two days to save her.

Her lips had barely brushed against his through the cloth when he felt another impressive stab of guilt, his mind's eye picturing Diana watching over Dick like he'd requested her to, dutifully, like any good friend would. He was a horrible human being. He drew back abruptly. "Selina..." he murmured hesitantly, trying to force his vocal chords to form the words that he knew were there – words he wanted to say, but couldn't.

She smiled sadly, her hands patting at his collarbones, like she were trying to straighten wrinkles out of his cape. Her gaze fell to the bat symbol with resignation. "It's alright, Batman," she comforted, her voice an affectionate purr. "You don't have to explain to me."

He found himself asking, "Explain what?"

Selina stared at him frankly, green eyes glittering with life and strength. "Well, for starters," she replied, "that you're in love with someone else."

He stiffened. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She made a face, slapping his chest. "_Please_, that was like kissing a log."

He tried not to feel offended at the roundabout slight to his manhood. "I didn't realize I was being graded on my performance."

Her expression twisted even further, her hands coming to rest on her hips. "I'm not dumb, Bruce. Who is she?" He pivoted, striding back silently into the kitchen to collect his mask. She broke into a sprint, lithely winding around his larger frame and stretching her hand out to seize the prize from his fingertips. Literally.

She made up for her earlier lack of apparent fighting prowess by expertly dodging every attempt he made at grabbing for the cowl, waving the cloth in her hand like a banner after she did a split under his legs to avoid a painful wrist-lock. He realized distantly that he was as turned on as he was annoyed, which, in turn, only annoyed him further. "I don't have time for this, Selina."

She popped up behind him, bounding _through _his cape of all things, and halted at the same window he'd been gaping out of for the better part of five minutes. It opened with a faint whine of metal hinges as she held the cowl out of the sill like it were a hostage. "Tell me who she is or the mask gets a free flying lesson."

Bruce almost sighed. A jealous, territorial Catwoman had access to his cowl. _'This is what I get for being an idiot.' _"There's no one else."

"Liar," she shot back. "I'm not angry, you know. I'm...actually happy for you," she admitted, her stance relaxing slightly. "You deserve to have someone that's good to you."

He slid his hand to his grapple beneath the cape. For the twentieth time this evening, he wondered why he simply didn't just knock her out and evacuate her by force. "You wouldn't be?"

The wind tugged at her shoulder-length brown hair, rustling the curls against her shoulders. "Cats are loners. That's not fair to you."

His finger pressed lightly against the trigger mechanism for the pneumatic device. "And it's fair to you?"

She chuckled lightly. "Don't worry about me, I always land on my feet. So – who is she?" When he didn't answer, her lips twitched into a small, curious grin, tentatively asking, "He?"

He nearly dropped the grapple as he tried not to gag at the thought. No. _Very _no.

She laughed, a warm and sultry sound. "A she, then. What's her name?"

He decided he'd waited long enough and fired, the thin metal cord coiling around her forearm as he unceremoniously yanked her from her feet. She cried out in surprise when she landed roughly on her rump in front of him, affronting arm held above her head by the titanium twine. She craned her head to glance up at him impishly, shaking the mask. "I think this is yours."

Bruce snatched the cowl away from her grip, releasing the line on the grapple as he sternly and clearly answered, "I'm _not _having this conversation with you."

The cord crumpled to the hardwood floor as her grin widened, leaning her elbows against her bent knees with her head lolling to the side to stare in amusement at him. "Well, you're probably going to be having this conversation with _somebody_, eventually."

"I won't." It was absolutely out of the question.

She rested her chin against her fist, as though she could see right through him. She could, but he would never let her know that. "You're determined to make yourself as unhappy as possible, aren't you?"

He tossed a withering look over his shoulder. "The world is in danger, and you're worried about petty romance?"

She shrugged, rolling easily to her bare feet and stretching. "Lennon was right. All you need is love."

In hindsight, he was well and truly amazed that the migraine only began right then. His patience having long since worn thin, he demanded, "Are you taking the flight or not?"

"No. I'll put too many people at risk." She leaned her weight on one leg, adding tartly, "Oh, and for the record, I've _always _cared about other people. I'm a thief, not a monster."

He detested being wrong. Never the less, he came to the conclusion that she was right on all counts – all counts that mattered, anyway. He quashed the twinge of fear at her remaining in the city, and instead, vowed to redouble his efforts to find a cure and keep Gotham in one piece. He _would _see her safe, through Hell or high water. "Well, if you aren't going to leave the city, then maybe you can help me out while you're here."

Selina balked. He enjoyed throwing her for a loop – it was eye for an eye, as far as he was concerned. "You want _my _help?"

"Consider it an opportunity to turn over a new leaf. You keep talking about it."

"_Talking_ about it, yeah, but..." She stared at him, her face a mixture of disbelief and dread. "You really _don't _think you're going to win this time, do you?"

"I think," he started as he pulled on his cowl, "that I'm going to need all the help I can get."

* * *

"I don't get it," Shayera huffed in exasperation, throwing her hands up. "We've been up and down this hall three times now, and there's no secret doorway, no latch, nothing!" She eyed Talia, whose visage was vaguely troubled. "I know your father's something of a kook, but – "

"Alright, we're wasting time," John cut in. "We should've brought the sample back to the Watchtower for testing an hour ago." He stalked past Shayera, adding, "Do you have any _other _wild goose chases to lead us on?"

She clenched a fist, ready to send it upside his head. "I didn't see _you _hesitating to come down here."

They both stalked off, voices echoing sharply as they continually sniped at each other. J'onn sighed, rubbing his temples with his hands wearily. There was a very specific reason why he requested not to work alone with those two on missions – their fights sent off the equivalent of psychic earthquakes that would decimate the landscape of any mind within a ten mile radius. Hmph. Humans.

Talia paused and gazed at him sympathetically. "Does their arguing trouble you?"

"As troubling as their verbal argument is," he replied with a grimace, "their _mental _one is..." He trailed off, comment forgotten, as he sought out their minds...and came up with absolutely nothing. He stiffened and held a hand out. "Green Lantern, Shayera, wait."

John stared at him incredulously. "Aw, c'mon, J'onn, don't tell me you _agree _with – "

"I can't sense you," he interrupted urgently. "Any of you."

The married couple exchanged quizzical looks. "What?"

"Your minds," he clarified, clamping down the instinctive urge to panic at the loss of a vital sense. "I can't find them with my own. That is...unprecedented."

John's green eyes hardened in thought. "Psychic dampener? Like the one the military used?"

"Maybe that's why you couldn't sense anyone in the complex," Shayera supplied.

J'onn nodded warily, carefully probing forward for any sign of change. "Perhaps, but the kind of machine required to shield an entire building would be..."

The psychic waves pinged softly.

His eyes glowed brightly. "There is another." Without delay, his form became incorporeal. "Wait here."

John reached a hand out to stay him. "Wait, where are you – "

J'onn dove into the wall.

Green Lantern frowned deeply, hands latched onto his hips as he glared at the monochromatic corridor. "Going."

J'onn traversed the stone sightlessly, but never the less with unerring direction; a bloodhound with a strong scent. Straight, then down, then to the right, and... He emerged through the wall of a tiny guest room. Its cold stone walls were painted beige, and the concrete floor was covered in a thin layer of hardwood. The furniture layout was spartan at best, with a single bed, a small wooden nightstand, and a side enclave with requisite human toiletries hidden by a sliding metal door.

In it, casually sitting in a wooden chair against the far wall, was a girl. Her expression was soulless, her icy blue eyes cold and unforgiving. Her hair, dark and thick, spilled in waves over her shoulders, halting at the mid of her chest. Her gaze caught his, momentarily warming in temperature. "Are you here to rescue me?"

He nodded. "Yes, I am. My name is J'onn J'onnz; I am with the Justice League." Gently, he reached out for her mind. "Who are you?"

He gasped when he felt a mind reach back for his, answering as clear as a bell, _'I am Nyssa Al Ghul.'_

**_To be continued..._**


	16. 16 Conflict of Interest

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Ra's Al Ghul was a decent man living in indecent times. His current plan to save Mother Earth was a daring and frightening one – he, of all people, hated that it had come to this. The Detective had his own deluded fantasies on what drove him; for a man with such a stunning intellect, how could he fail to see what was so blatantly obvious? Did he _really_ believe that Ra's had not tried to achieve his goals through peaceful measures? That he hadn't devoted over two _centuries _to resolving the ever-decaying situation amicably? Of course not – for all of Bruce Wayne's efforts to protect the Earth, he had never once tried reversing the process.

He had learned long ago that simply throwing money at a problem would never solve it, only delay the inevitable. He'd wasted so much time trying to convince his greedy and apathetic brethren to nurture the Earth that gave them all life, instead of plundering it for its bountiful, though finite, resources. Their insatiable appetite for more – more power, more land, more pointless knickknacks and meaningless baubles to display wealth and prosperity – was leading to the extinction of species faster than could be counted. Once, he'd loved his people, his fellow humans, for their tenacity and ingenuity, but no more. Theirs was a sad and steady decline, heedless to the risks of their descent, and their ultimate fate would be well-deserved. It was merely a shame that his hand would be forced in such a way; he believed that _all _life was sacred. But when one life was causing the deaths of thousands of others, the choice was obvious: balance must be restored.

If humanity could not be reasoned with, it would be _dealt _with.

After all, the world wasn't going to save itself.

**16.  
Conflict of Interest  
**

"Master," said one of his soldiers, "one of the Justice League has happened upon Mistress Nyssa." He sent a command, bringing an overhead display of the room along the screen in front of him. "It is the Martian."

Still no sign of the Kryptonian. It appeared the Detective had an attachment to that one. Interesting. "And the location of the others?"

"They are within the observation deck." There was a short, but significant, pause. "Your daughter is among them."

"Talia..." he sighed. That was not unexpected, but it was disappointing. Foolish girl – she should have taken her chance at freedom while it was dangled in front of her. "Send in a small force of troops."

"Master."

"Pah, the Justice League! They sully the grounds with their filth!" Ubu scoffed with disdain, slamming one fist into an open palm. "I would relish teaching those dogs humility."

He raised a hand to stay his faithful servant. "Calm yourself, Ubu. Though I have no doubt of your fighting prowess, Shayera Hol and John Stewart are among the League's most powerful adversaries. It wouldn't do to pit you against them unnecessarily."

Ubu nodded in deference, though his chiseled features were tensed with tightly-checked anger. "Of course, Master."

A faint smile touched Ra's lips. "Patience, you will be granted your chance in due time. For now, the facility has served its purpose; we have more than enough of the contagion to secure our victory. Signal our agents, they are to be transported immediately. Once the facility is evacuated..." He trailed off for a heartbeat, sparing a silent farewell to his beloved, if treacherous, progeny. He so dearly wished it hadn't come to this. "Destroy it."

* * *

"Well, we can't just sit here and wait while J'onn goes sniffing out a clue," Shayera groused with a frown. "There has to be more here than this." Stubbornly, she set out to find a hidden latch, hands splayed across the white wall.

"Shayera, we don't have time for this," John responded heatedly, waving an arm in the air. "We've been up and down this corridor with a fine-toothed comb; if there was something hidden here, we'd have found it."

She promptly ignored him, going about her business and coming up with nothing, as she had the last three times she'd done this. Her fingers roamed over the sleek surface of the cement, blindly searching for –

Wait, _sleek _surface?

"Wait a sec," she said, red brows pinched together. She stalked the six feet to the other side of the narrow corridor and touched the wall, rewarded with the uneven, bumpy texture of painted over concrete. "This is the wall J'onn went through, and it's made of concrete. But _that _wall isn't." She nodded to the far wall. "Check for yourself."

Skeptically, John pressed his hand against it. He blinked in surprise. "It's smooth."

She nodded. "Like metal."

"How did we not spot this before?" he wondered aloud.

She shrugged. "Can't see the forest for the trees? Doesn't matter, now."

Talia rested her palms against the cool white wall, gazing at it curiously. "I wonder what is behind here."

"Could be nothing," John suggested.

"Could be everything," Shayera rejoined.

John glanced in her direction, full lips twitching into a knowing smirk while he clenched his right fist. "One way to find out."

A laser powered by willpower sparked and hissed as he cleanly etched a five foot tall oval into the camouflaged metal. Extending the ring's power, the light melted onto the newly-liberated section of wall and tugged it free, setting it on the ground next to them. A moment later, the trio found themselves crowding around a reinforced window that was hidden behind the foot-thick false wall, staring down into the bowels of an impossibly large hangar. Men, dressed in black uniforms, scurried around like cockroaches, hurriedly loading supplies into land and aerial transports. John whistled. "That's enough weapons to supply Kasnia!"

Shayera narrowed her eyes, taking in the massive room that stretched in front of them. "I don't see any exit – they're almost half a mile underground, how do they expect to get out?"

"Batman said that the lady who constructed the League teleporter went missing a couple of months ago, along with all of her blueprints and notes." He shook his head. "Instant-access to anywhere in the world," he motioned to the trucks loaded with ammunition, "armed like _that_."

Shayera pointed to a handful of Society members that were busy loading a large ovular drum onto the back of a cargo plane. "That doesn't look like any weapon container I've ever seen."

Talia's fists clenched at her side. "I have."

* * *

It had been quite some time since J'onn had ever needed to worry about someone reading his mind. Ma'alaca'andran culture had strict formal and informal laws on the use of telepathy. Invading another's mind was considered a particularly heinous crime, as the mind was sacred, along with the body, and not to be forced upon by another. Still, it was part of his people's physiology; the act of protecting oneself against it was common, ingrained early.

As his pupilless red eyes locked on Nyssa's and felt her mind decisively press against the barriers of his own, he concluded that spending five-hundred years in solitude, and another decade surrounded by the mind-blind had eroded his natural defenses to the point of near uselessness. He would have to correct this lapse immediately. "Come with me," he said as he stepped forward, holding out one green hand. "My friends and I will see you to safety."

The teen didn't move. "No, you won't."

He moved closer, glancing at the closed door and willing to see what was beyond it. "We're here to help." Whatever was dampening his mental abilities, though, remained otherwise intact, save for the girl in front of him. "Do you know how many are in this complex?"

"Hundreds," she answered, her accented alto flat. "They know of your intrusion."

"All the more reason to leave quickly."

She pursed her lips, then nodded, as if satisfied. "So be it." She stepped to the wall opposite of the clearly defined steel door, pressing her thumb against a nondescript box. It twittered, then beeped, and a section of the wall promptly rolled back to reveal a small elevator. "This way – that door is booby trapped with kryptonite and explosives."

"Kryptonite?"

"My grandfather assumed that only you and Superman would brave a room sealed with lead to find a hostage," she explained.

So, Ra's Al Ghul not only knew their physical weaknesses, but knew how to use their psychological traits against them, as well. That was distressing, to say the least. "Your grandfather is cunning."

Nyssa's thin lips twisted into a grin that would have been disturbing on anyone, let alone a pale-faced teenager. "So am I."

* * *

"_That's _the plague strain?" Shayera exclaimed as she pressed her hand against the glass. She looked back at Talia urgently. "Do you know where the communications room is in this place?"

She blinked. "Most of my father's bases keep it nearby the Lazarus Pit, to – "

"On it!" Shayera exclaimed as she took off.

Bemused, she allowed Green Lantern to shield her in a bubble as he sped forward, the florescent lights streaking above them. "I don't understand. Using his computer won't allow communication to your League."

The ex-Marine shook his head, expression unreadable. "We're not trying to contact the League, we're going to jam the transporter's frequency – make sure they don't get any of that stuff out of here."

"But, how do you know what its frequency is?" she asked.

"We don't."

At the top of the stairwell, the Thanagarian gaped at the now-closed doorway as John and Talia landed solidly behind them. "That's not good."

"Yeah, no kidding, help me find a way out." Her keen eyes, more acute than a human's, scanned her surroundings for a release. "They _have _to get out of here somehow."

The doorway shuddered with a pneumatic hiss and slowly began to pull itself back into the wall. She took a step back. "Wasn't me."

Talia readied her gun, its deadly dart gleaming in the stark lighting. "My father's soldiers have found us."

"Good," Shayera replied as she gripped her mace in both hands. "Saves me the trouble of having to hunt them down."

* * *

The Copán base was deceptively large, and hideously complex. The amount of adjacent hallways, stairwells, elevators, and security checks that they had passed through began to blur together three floors ago. Hadn't Talia told Green Lantern that this was one of his _smaller _strongholds? "You know your way around."

"My grandfather led me through here, once, shortly after I arrived," Nyssa stated, easily bounding up a flight of steps. She was quite fit for her particular weight class. "I think he wanted me to understand his madness and adopt it."

J'onn stared at her profile evenly. "But you haven't."

She shook her head. "He has forgotten that there are good people as well as evil – that for all of humanity's selfishness, they hold a capacity for change and hope." She paused, the silence hanging heavily in the increasingly stale air. "He is misguided."

He couldn't discern any lack of sincerity, but her comprehension of the situation felt contradictory. They turned at another corner, a mirror image of the last six they rounded. "Where are we going?"

Her shoulder-length brown hair fluttered as she glanced over her shoulder. "To rendezvous with your allies on the observation deck."

She spoke as though she were far older, more experienced and battle-hardened, than she appeared. He mulled over how large a role the Lazarus Pits have played in her life thus far, and whether or not this was one incredibly elaborate trap. "Observation deck?"

"It overlooks the facility's armory and supplies depot," came her reply. "Some of my grandfather's men are en route to them now."

How did she know where the others were? She was clearly telepathic, so lifting information from the soldiers wasn't out of the question, but this dampening field would otherwise prevent that. He then stuffed his suspicions as far down as he could manage, recalling that she could sense him. "They will prove very difficult to kill."

"They're not trying to kill them – only detain them for a short period of time."

His brow ticked in something that, at any other time, could have been considered amusement. "They will prove very difficult to detain, as well."

"They know your weaknesses," she clarified dubiously. "All of them."

The woman-child before him was a conundrum – her body language and mannerisms were, as far as he could sense, truthful, but she navigated the terrain with comfort and efficiency, and seemed to have an intimate knowledge of where everyone within this complex was and what they were doing. The only conclusion he could reach was that she was no mere victim. "We know. That is why we've come prepared."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Nyssa's angular face. "You sound like Batman."

J'onn detected a hint of something in her voice, but without access to her emotions, he couldn't be sure what it was. Never the less, it set him on edge. "What do you know of Batman?"

"I know my mother admires him," she declared, "loves him. She wishes she could disappear from this life and join his." Her voice dropped low, "She stayed in part because she feared retribution towards me if she ever betrayed my grandfather."

The muscles along his jaw tightened briefly. "You're avoiding the question."

"For good reason – these walls have eyes and ears." She slowed, making eye contact. There was a flicker of desperation, and he felt the low thrum of fear radiate from her for the breadth of a second through the blanket surrounding his mind. "I will tell you everything I know, but not here, not now."

J'onn, at length, acquiesced with a guarded nod. "Very well." He pressed his fingers against his temple, attempting to break through the psychic barrier, to no effect. His eyes then fell upon the girl keeping pace with him in the deserted corridor and dared to take the chance. "Nyssa," he asked, "are you able to breach the dampening field?"

She furrowed her brows. "Dampening field?"

"Yes," he assented. "The only person I can sense within the complex is you; perhaps it doesn't affect you."

Her gaze only became more confused as he spoke. "You can't sense anyone? I can feel everyone here," she said. "Including your friends."

He gaped at her, a waif compared to his impressive 6'5" height, and cautiously laid a hand on her shoulder. His skin had barely made contact with her custom-fitted purple tunic when he was immediately assaulted with voices, thousands of them, screaming and wailing from all directions. He wheezed, struggling to keep his balance through the cacophony of emotions and thoughts, his eyes finding hers. They were steady and unflinching; hardened against the insanity of conflicting minds that tore through her like a tornado.

Ra's Al Ghul wasn't using a machine to shield the others from him – he was using his _granddaughter_.

Oh yes – he was most _definitely _brushing up on his internal defensive capabilities.

* * *

Amanda Waller had _just_ fallen asleep when the jingle of her cell jarred her back into the waking world, to her immediate and intense irritation. Rubbing her eyes, she reached for the phone and stared at the number that blinked at her in muted blue. Grimacing, she flipped it open and pressed the device to her ear. "Go ahead, General Flagg."

_"Wrong general, Amanda."_

Her back went stiff. "_Eiling_?" She glanced around her darkened room, as though she could feel Batman peering out from the shadows themselves. "What are you doing with Flagg's number?"

_"Falsified the cell signal," _he explained in his usual clipped monotone. _"I knew you wouldn't answer just _any _number."_

Her attention turned to the lacquered oak nightstand alongside her bed. "Last I heard, you trashed a research facility, used a highly unstable mutagen on yourself, destroyed some of downtown Metropolis and then went AWOL."

_"You heard wrong, then,"_ he rebutted flatly. _"Our government decided that simply throwing my knowledge and expertise away was a bad idea. I've been given a new lease on life. But that's not why I'm calling."_

"Why _are _you calling, then?" she inquired carefully, a polite chill in her voice.

_"I have information on Leopard Fever you might find useful," _Eiling stated. _"But, we'll need to discuss this in person, this line isn't secure."_

"_My _line isn't secure?" Amanda all-but scoffed, eyebrow arched.

_"If _I_ could get access to your phone, imagine who _else_ could." _ She scowled darkly at the disembodied voice. _"Meet me outside of our old stomping grounds in an hour. And bring your research with you. We'll compare notes."_

"Of course, General," she agreed tritely, free hand moving to unlock the drawer with a practiced ease. "In an hour, then."

The line clicked and went silent.

She slowly folded her phone shut, watching the display go black, plunging the room back into total darkness. Turning her head, she reached into the drawer and pulled out her handgun. She pressed her fingers across the clip release and double-checked that it was loaded. Slamming it back in with a sharp _chak_, she ran her thumb over the safety and casually flicked it off. "In one hour, then," she repeated to herself.

She slammed the drawer shut, then paused. She could've sworn... Carefully leaning over, she tugged it open again, hearing the faintest rattle. Amanda yanked on the golden chain of the mounted lamp, blinking against the sudden intrusion of light into her dilated pupils, and reached into the drawer. Feeling around for a moment, her fingertips finally brushed against something foreign. She hastily retracted her hand to examine her findings.

It was a small, bat-shaped bug.

Waller shook the device between her curled fingers like a dice. That sly bastard – he never failed to impress. "I take it you heard that conversation, then?" she asked into the silence. "Good. If I don't come back, then you'll know that _whoever_ was on the line is a bigger threat than you believe I am." She shook her head, surprised to find herself smirking as she got to her feet, muttering, "Never thought I'd live to see the day where I'd be _happy _to find a bug in my room."

* * *

J'onn's current charge was a living, breathing psychic nullifier. This...complicated matters. Extremely.

He promptly released her. Her mannerisms suddenly made more sense. "You...are powerful," he admitted, watching as the compliment seemed to please her greatly. Filing that information away for later, he continued, "Nyssa, are you able to find out what the soldiers here are doing?"

She nodded, closing her eyes briefly. "They are evacuating."

"Why?"

She shook her head lethargically, "I don't..." Her eyes flew open. "They are taking canisters of the plague with them."

He drew in a breath. This was where they were producing the disease strain. More pieces fell into place, but the whole picture remained elusive – Batman would want to hear about all of this, in great detail. For now, though, he had more immediate concerns. "Where is their evacuation exit?"

"They don't have one," she said. "They are being transported via a teleporter."

He straightened abruptly. "Do you know where the communications array is?"

She tilted her head to the side, a strangely child-like gesture for a young woman that acted so adult. "But what of your friends?"

"They'll be heading in the same direction," he assured her quickly. "Can you show me the way?"

"We are actually very close, it's just around this..." Nyssa skidded to a halt, words dying to a squeak in her throat when a black-clad soldier sailed past her, landing in an unmoving heap on the ground. "Corner." She looked from the unconscious to the Martian with a raised eyebrow. "Your friends?"

J'onn smirked at the teen. "Great minds think alike."

* * *

"Is this the best Ra's Al Ghul's got?" Shayera remarked as she ducked a punch, crushing her attacker's ribs with a debilitating blow from her mace. "I fought tougher people in school!"

Talia twisted a soldier's arm to the breaking point, dropping the butt of her gun against the crown of his masked head and watching him collapse to the ground. "Military?"

"Elementary." A trio went flying down the hallway.

She gaped at the Thanagarian for a split-second – long enough for another assailant to creep up behind her. She whirled, eyes wide, and moved to fire her gun, knowing her reaction time was too slow to properly aim even as she did so. Something ghosted past her, _through _her, and collided with the faceless thug before he could react, slamming him into a nearby wall with an audible crunch as the green figure passed through his now-limp body into the cement. A moment later, rising from the floor, serpentine, solidified the Martian Manhunter. His eyebrow ridge arched by way of greeting. "You have a visitor."

Confusedly, she followed his gaze, staring past Green Lantern, the former Hawkgirl, and the pile of unmoving bodies that were strewn along the corridor, and saw –

She gasped. "Nyssa!"

Talia shoved past the League duo, charging down the hall in a dead sprint, not caring that she was trampling men beneath her heeled boots in her rush to hold her daughter again. They sought to take her child away – there was no room for compassion or mercy in her heart for them. A lump in her throat, she flung her arms around the lanky teen, holding her tightly. "Oh, I have worried so much for you!"

Nyssa politely patted her back, as though she were a stranger. "It is good to see you well, Mother."

Pulling back, Talia took in the sight of her – when had she become a woman? The last time she laid eyes on her, Nyssa was a quiet, soft-spoken seven year old. Regret tweaked at her ribs. "It has been too long," she lamented, stroking her daughter's dark hair.

Nyssa offered her a wilted smile. She'd always been something of a sad and lonely child; it broke her heart to see that she still found no true happiness in her life. "It has, Mother."

Talia felt Shayera's hand land solidly on her shoulder. "Don't mean to cut the reunion short, but we've got some disease trafficking to stop." She nodded towards her allies as she started off. "Come on."

She turned to face Nyssa again, smiling and brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Let us go."

* * *

The communication room was as cramped and hard on the eyes as one would expect – computer terminals and monitors lined every inch of the walls, with barely enough space for two people to adequately maneuver, let alone work. Many of the monitors were linked to specific rooms; two were dedicated to the landing bay below them. Of the dozens of screens, only one was blank. J'onn surmised that was a good place to start, his hands flying over the keyboard. "What are you doing?" Talia asked.

"Locking out the Watchtower transporter frequency," he huffed, adjusting settings that flashed across the screen.

John stood at his side, studying the controls. "You think the frequencies are identical?"

"If Ra's Al Ghul used the same blueprints for both transporters, it's entirely possible," he offered, pressing the Enter key.

Satisfied, John started towards the door. "I'm going to go collect the pit sample."

Shayera uncrossed her arms and fell into step beside him. "Alright, then, let's go."

"Hang on a second, Shayera," he ordered, staying her with a hand to her shoulder. "It may be better if J'onn comes with me."

"What? Why? My mace is resistant to magic _and _yellow." She poked a finger into his chest. Hard. "You need me with you."

He clenched his jaw, his broad shoulders going rigid. "Sorry, Shayera, but I can't risk being slowed down."

Shayera's eyes became as volcanic as the bubbling pit he was nearly killed in a few hours ago. "_Slowed down_?"

"We're running out of time," J'onn interjected, standing between the couple before they came to blows. "I will go with Green Lantern as back-up, you can monitor our position from here and warn us of any impending trap."

She crossed her arms, fiery red hair swaying as she cocked her head to the side. "And how, exactly, am I supposed to warn you two? Our communicators and your _brain _are both jammed."

J'onn's gaze fell upon Nyssa. She shifted uncomfortably.

* * *

John and J'onn flew down the abandoned, winding corridors with the speed and efficiency that came from years of working together. J'onn would have said he was keeping an eye out for anything abnormal, but given the somewhat hellish nature of this complex, here, abnormal _was _normal. He glanced at Green Lantern. "Shayera would have been the better choice to accompany you."

John, for a beat, pretended that he didn't exist. "I know."

He knit his brows. This man was more confusing than Batman, sometimes. "Then why keep her behind? She is fully capable of defending – "

"I _know_," he grated out with a pronounced sigh. "Look, J'onn, I'm here to do a _job_. We need this sample so we can potentially save _billions _of lives. Making sure it reaches the Watchtower is my main priority." He looked away as the double-doors pulled back to reveal the yawning chasm of rock and the dangerous matter that it cradled in its earthen hands. "She was a soldier, too, she should know – the mission comes first."

J'onn appraised his ally of almost a decade, pining for the ability to brush against his mind and better discern the ex-Marine's train of thought. "Is it because of the mission," he asked, "or because you fear you would choose her first in spite of it?"

John grimaced, staring down at the boiling cauldron over a hundred feet below them. "I thought you couldn't read my mind here."

J'onn's lips twitched. "I didn't have to."

* * *

This, thought Shayera as she watched the two green men chat up old times while they sped down the hallways, was probably why the Amazons hated men so much. Her attention flickered to the monitors of the massive landing bay beneath them, pleased that none of the cargo seemed to have moved since John put in the jamming frequency. John. That pigheaded jock. It wasn't like she was some wet-eared rookie – she knew damn well about mission priorities; she'd made tough choices before. _(Nevermind that many of those choices continued to haunt her, years after she'd made them.)_ She knew the importance of him retrieving the pit sample and was fully prepared to lay down her life to make sure he did just that. _(It would be only fair.) _He was compromising the mission by keeping the better-suited Leaguer on babysitting duty, instead of down in the fray, where she belonged.

Her focus darted from her friends to the landing bay and back, tensely waiting for one of the two groups to get a clue and do something. She huffed, leaned on her palms, and decided, firmly, that she was not going to be relegated to crowd control when important work needed to be done. She returned to the blank monitor, bringing up the command display. "Do either of you know any of the access codes here?"

Talia studied the screen. "My security clearance has likely been revoked, but I could try."

Shayera stepped aside. "Have at it."

The woman slipped past her easily, taller than she was, but thinner – more lithe and agile. The staccato clacking of keys was the only sound made in the cramped room as she hurriedly worked through the various screens and verifications. All for naught, evidently, as red letters flashed forbiddingly, bathing the two of them a dull crimson. Talia exhaled crossly through her nose. "It's no use; my codes have been denied. I cannot risk hacking the database, or else it may cause the security system in the complex to fully activate." She craned her neck to look at Shayera. "What were you planning to search for?"

"The jamming frequency has to be coming from somewhere," the Thanagarian reasoned. "If we can trace that back to the satellite it's coming from, we might be able the find the location of the original signal."

"I can help."

Shayera pivoted, gaping at the gangly, younger carbon-copy of Talia Al Ghul. "You have access to the computer systems?" she questioned.

"I don't," Nyssa produced a key card from her sleeve with that same sickly little grin and off-kilter blue eyes, "but the soldier I stole this from did."

Shayera wasn't sure whether to be impressed, disturbed, or both. Personally, she was leaning towards the latter fairly heavily as she plucked the plastic card from her fingers, inserting it into the small slot next to the keyboard. _ 'Creepy kid.' _"Well, let's see what we can find." The screen winked out, then was filled with endless lines of code, before it filtered out to a single figure. Counting down.

Three pairs of eyes went wide. "Is that – "

Shayera wheeled around to the teen, gripping her shoulders tightly. "Nyssa, you _have _to warn J'onn and Green Lantern to leave."

Nyssa blinked and stammered, "I – "

"_Do it_!"

The girl's face twitched and twisted in a mixture of concentration and frustration. "It isn't – your friend's mind – I – "

She growled and stalked to the mic mounted onto the landing bay console, slamming her fist down on the call button. "Attention everyone," she commanded, "this complex has activated its self-destruct sequence. If you don't want to go up like kindling, you better haul ass and be out of here in less than five minutes." She was almost tempted to add, "Have a nice day," but immediately thought against it, before resolving to punch Wally once, just because of his corruptive influence on her.

_'Well,'_ she mused wryly as she witnessed hundreds of uniformed men clamoring like headless chickens for the nearest exit,_ 'at least that poison isn't going anywhere, now.' _A few moments later, J'onn emerged through the floor of the communication room, quickly taking in the situation. Shayera motioned to the countdown sequence on the screen. "This place is set to blow in five minutes," she explained hastily, all but shoving the two women into his chest. "Take these two and get out of here – I'll go back for Green Lantern."

He wrapped his powerful arms around their waists, but hesitated briefly. Her shoulders almost slumped. _'Not you too, J'onn.'_

She couldn't be sure whether he read her thoughts or her expression, but the message was delivered loud and clear all the same. "Understood. I'll return to you both shortly."

She was already out the door.

* * *

Ra's stood silently, arms folded behind his back beneath his velvet cloak. "Have you been able to re-establish contact with the teleporter?"

"No, Master," spoke an agent, "the frequency is still being jammed." His fingers danced over the keys expertly, to no avail. "Shall I halt the destruct sequence?"

He hummed in thought, regarding the images being fed to the screen from the Copán base with a detached sort of concern. "No. The loss of the contagion should prove only a minor setback."

The agent started. "B-but, Master, the men – "

Ubu lunged forward without preamble, bunching one gigantic fist into his tunic and yanking him off his feet. "Dog! Do not presume to question the Master's judgment!"

The masked underling choked and gasped in terror as he attempted to stammer an apology. Ra's held up his hand. "Ubu. That is enough."

Ubu glared at the simpering man in his grip for another moment before dropping him heavily back into his chair. He stood where he was, towering over the worker as his Master approached the display with authority, light blue eyes scanning the information before him. "Master," he asked quietly, careful to maintain a visage of deference, especially in plain view of the whelp he'd just disciplined, "what of Miss Talia and Nyssa?"

Ra's stared ahead blankly, expression devoid of emotion. "It is...unfortunate," he said at length, "but Mother Earth has lost far more than a child in humanity's unquenchable thirst for conquest." He straightened. "Their sacrifice shall not be in vain."

* * *

Fat beads of sweat dotted John's forehead as he hovered fifteen feet over the tainted pit that seethed in rage at his intrusion. It was proving surprisingly difficult to maintain his concentration on the construct he created to hold the stuff; twice now, the bottom fell out of the beaker as soon as it was full for reasons he couldn't fathom. He supposed he would have the chance to dwell on it later, after they got out of this underground sinkhole and back to the Watchtower. Neck muscles twining like vines beneath his dark skin, he forced all of his willpower into the miniscule vial and lifted it from the fetid green muck. It held.

Breathing out a sigh of momentary relief, he willed a cork to cap the flask in his hand and shot up out of the small grotto – away from the sickly mire that churned and frothed, releasing toxic fumes that sat and burned like acid against his lungs. And to think, someone actually figured that diving into one of these things was a good idea? The things people did to try and prolong their lives. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his spare hand, leaving the Lazarus Pit behind him as he hurried for the cross-locked double doors that sealed the chamber. They opened prematurely, Shayera's ever-beautiful figure backlit by the red warning lights that strobed in tandem along the ceiling corners. "Shayera? What – "

She surged forward, grabbing his wrist roughly and wrenching him ahead with a staggering amount of power. There were times he forgot that Thanagarian women were many times stronger than humans. It certainly made their love life interesting. "We gotta go! Come on!"

Naturally, when a teammate said to run, he did. When that teammate was his wife, though – the same one he was trying to protect by keeping her out of harm's way – things became a bit murkier. "I thought I told you to stay with the others."

"J'onn can evacuate them faster," she responded, all business. "This place is set to implode in less than a minute, we need to – "

The chamber they hovered in quaked violently, the earthen floor pitching and rolling with the force of a powerful explosion. John gaped at her. "_How _much less than a minute?"

The natural ceiling of the grotto thundered, crooked lines skittering across the slate, etching an ever-growing spiderweb. A chunk the size of a Javelin dislodged itself, spinning leisurely as it plunged downward. Shayera launched herself toward the massive boulder and let loose a fearsome warcry. Her mace connected with the rock and shattered it into smaller, jagged chunks that rained down around the currently defenseless Lantern, a spray of dust and dirt sprinkling over them both. She swiveled her head on her rounded shoulders, very much like the bird of prey she once named herself after, jade eyes sharp and demanding. "Move! I'll cover you!"

_'The mission comes first.'_

He flew into the corridor.

* * *

J'onn heard the muted sonic boom of a triggered explosive device before either of the women did, his back tensing. He set them down in the underbrush with a quick, "Wait here," and whisked off to assist his friends. He dove into the grass-covered ground that was currently being rocked by tremors. The innate dampening field Nyssa generated was still in effect, so he couldn't be certain where they were, let alone how quickly he could aid them. None of that was relevant, though – he would not leave his friends behind.

He emerged in time to see the roiling cloud of fire barrel directly into him.

* * *

They weren't going to make it.

They weren't going to make it.

Shayera angled herself up mid-air, jamming her mace into a crumbling support beam overhead, grunting through bared teeth as her husband narrowly dodged a section of wall that collapsed inward. Once he was through in a green blur, she released the groaning beam, shoving herself back awkwardly as it creaked, and then buckled; the five-hundred pound slab of steel twisting free of its frame like it were a bent playing card. Doing so sent her off-kilter, slowing her momentum enough that she didn't avoid the next steel beam from drilling into her back, slamming her into the ground with enough force to knock the wind from her lungs.

She felt strong arms slip under hers and drag her into flight, her wings obeying out of rote and instinct more than any command she rightfully gave. His hand was clamped tightly to the crook of her left elbow as he suddenly halted to back away from a jet of dust that sprayed from the ceiling. He shifted and edged past the column of oppressive dirt, tugging her along with him. The main stairwell was within reach, but that didn't stop the wall of white-hot fire, brimstone, and molten steel from hurtling toward them both at more than terminal velocity.

She wasn't going to make it – but she'd be damned if John wasn't going to get out alive.

Shayera shoved her husband out of the way.

* * *

Batman received Waller's message loud and clear, and her assessment of the situation was correct – whoever arranged a meeting with her was clearly a threat. However, Waller was going to be sorely disappointed if she believed that any rescue attempt was coming by him; he was currently shoulder deep in his own problems. "Nightwing, how did you get Wonder Woman's frequency?" he demanded.

_"From her communicator,"_ Dick answered tensely. _"It was lying on the floor outside of the cell."_

Pondering how exactly Dick was able to breach the security of the bio-chemical containment unit that he himself designed from the inside, he repeated, "It was on the floor."

_"Yeah,"_ came the uneasy reply. _"I'm guessing that's not something she normally does?"_

He felt the sickly threads of worry tickling up his nerves and stamped it down – stamped everything down. His voice became hard. "Access the room's security cameras."

_"I thought this room didn't have – oh wait, this is you. Let me find it." _ The next ten seconds of silence dragged on slowly as he crouched at the base of a building's water tower, closely watching the military helicopter that buzzed overhead, streaming a searchlight over the area for him. They would come up empty-handed. _"Got it! Want me to patch it through?"_

Batman unclasped the palm-top computer from his gauntlet, inputting a command. "Go ahead."

The information streamed onto the tiny flat-screened monitor. Diana sat at the nearby computer interface, researching someone from the looks of it, when she whirled into a defensive stance, protectively guarding the unit. The unauthorized visitor remained frustratingly off-screen, but the words she spoke were more than telling enough. His lips pressed into an angry line. _"Who is this guy?" _Dick asked.

"Dangerous," he hissed as he watched Diana's mouth open in a wordless scream from whatever the blue-clad figure was doing to her, before a flash of blinding light engulfed the screen. When it faded, they were both gone.

"Do not worry for her safety, Batman," came a voice from behind him. He whipped his head around, leveling a baleful glare and a Batarang at the very same man that vanished from his screen. "She is unharmed."

"Where's Wonder Woman?" he growled, eyes slits.

"Not where," the stranger responded coolly. "When."

_**To be continued...**_


	17. 17 The Tangled Web

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

The Spectre noted how intrigued Phantom Stranger was by Batman. The Dark Knight was, by all accounts, his living antithesis. However, in spite of his rage, his thirst for bloody retribution, he denied himself all of it. He refused to be cowed by those who sought to break him, by the vices that whispered lovingly to him; he resisted the temptation to unleash his hatred upon those who, in his own eyes, justly deserved all his wrath and more. His want for vengeance was great, but his need for justice was greater.

Truth be told, it irritated the Spectre to no end. He was certain the Stranger enjoyed that. That pompous fool.

He imagined that was partly why Stranger was down there, on Earth, trying his hardest to avert a crisis that could not be averted – even he, the Wrath of God incarnate, could only bow before the forces at play. It was not his place to impede upon humanity's fate; indeed, it was their _own_ choices that called him to their doorsteps in the dead of night, seeking to mete out _true_ justice, and not that..._farce _Phantom Stranger subscribed to. What laid in store for them all was nothing short of just desserts – the true innocents would be rewarded for their fealty, and the guilty would burn, as they always should have.

Where did Batman fall, though, he wondered? Was he an innocent, struck down by the wicked, and twisted into the very terrors that the wicked themselves feared? Or was he as guilty as those he tried to stop, succumbing to the sins of human nature? The Spectre tilted his ashen, gaunt face up, soulless yellowed eyes fixating upon the hourglass that hung above them all. A single grain of sand had the power to move worlds, galaxies, transplant billions of souls from one form to another with the faintest shift of its miniscule axis. He did not know which grain held Batman's soul, nor did he know where that grain would land.

It wasn't his place to interfere. However, for the sake of his most favored servant, perhaps he would.

When the time was right.

**17.  
The Tangled Web  
**

The Spectre observed the scene below. It would do well to at least keep himself apprised of his mortal protege's situation, especially in light of how dire the circumstances were. _Especially _if Phantom Stranger was sticking his nose into it.

They stood atop a particularly dilapidated roof, Batman semi-crouched beneath a steel girder to blend further into the shadows it created, glaring at Phantom Stranger distrustfully. A helicopter hovered nearby, close enough that it could have seen Batman. Close enough that it _should _have seen Batman. They didn't. "What do you want?"

"Don't be alarmed, I am – "

"Phantom Stranger," Batman cut in impatiently, "a powerful mystic of unknown origin that many in the arcane community consider an authority – and in some circles, _the _authority."

Phantom Stranger inclined his head. "Impressive."

The Bat's eyes narrowed. "I'll ask you again: what do you want?"

"I'm alarmed at the way you've been conducting yourself lately," Stranger stated.

The Dark Knight's features, already tightened with fatigue and irritation, twisted further into a scowl. "Go haunt a house. I'm busy."

Phantom Stranger's lips quirked into the faintest of smirks that disappeared as quickly as it came. "So I see," he remarked smoothly, eying the Blackhawk that soared in a grid pattern search, search lights cutting through the night like a scalpel through diseased flesh. That last streak of light clipped a small section of Batman's cape. The marvel of technology stopped midair, the powerful beam focusing on the girder he huddled behind. His face remained out of view, even as his flowing cape gave him away. The Stranger raised a gloved hand. "Allow me to assist."

Batman glared at him darkly. "I thought you couldn't directly interfere."

"I'm not." Despite his words, the world around them shifted, swirled, and warped into whorls of color before it resettled to a room that was familiar to Bruce from blueprints alone.

He blinked once, acquainting himself with the architecture, though the sight of built-in incubators and sterile metal cribs was quite telling enough. "The Watchtower nursery?" he grunted, brows furrowed. His eyes, dulled by overexertion he failed to admit existed, fell upon the slumbering butler, holding an equally unconscious newborn in a surprisingly homely looking wooden rocking chair right next to him. He never remembered having _that _brought in; he wondered which of the other founders had a hand in that. Clark came to mind almost immediately. His shadow spilled over them both, his eyes fixed on them even as he aimed his words at the Stranger, who stood at his side. "What did you want from Diana?"

His voice was frustratingly soothing. "It was Diana who wanted something."

_And _he was playing the mysterious angle entirely too hard. "And that is?"

"She wanted to understand you."

The words burned like acid in his ears. "I don't _want_ her to understand me," Batman growled through curled lips, a flare of familiar anger warming him. "I don't want _anyone_ to." No one should ever know what it was like – no one _would_ ever know. _Ever_.

The Stranger gave no reaction. "Wonder Woman can save you."

His stomach was too empty to taste bile on the back of his tongue like he was expecting. "She's wasting her time." The even stare he was being given manifested itself as a constant unwanted pressure against his right temple. He felt compelled to elaborate, lest Stranger draw unwarranted conclusions. The last thing he needed was a pseudo-omniscient being plucking at his already-frayed strings. "Millions of lives are at stake. There are more important things to worry about."

In front of him, Alfred snorted quietly and awoke with a groggy, "Master Bruce?" He blinked milky eyes and continued, "Might I inquire – " half aborted yawn, " – as to who you're speaking with?"

Bruce glanced to his right and found only empty air. His teeth clacked together in chagrin – that really _was _irritating, wasn't it? "It doesn't matter." He gazed down at the loyal butler, still dutifully holding the tiny bundle against him as protectively as any guardian should be. He laid a hand on the elder man's shoulder. "Get some rest. I'll take care of the baby."

Eyes clearing of their fog, Alfred warned, "Master Bruce, I wouldn't..." His refined tenor trailed off in surprise as he witnessed the Dark Knight Detective, fearsome terror of the night, gently slip a muscled and calloused hand under the newborn's belly, his leather-clad palm nearly dwarfing the child in its entirety as he rested baby Rex against his broad, armored chest. It was quite possibly the most contrary image Alfred Pennyworth had ever seen, and he had lived through more than a few strange occurrences in his eighty-seven years of life. What truly sold the image, though, was how Master Bruce was handling him with such ridiculous ease, as if holding a gurgling and helpless infant was something he was born to do.

It pained Alfred. If only he could tell Bruce just how much he took after his father without fear of watching those haunting blue eyes cloud over with pain.

"Wow, Bats with a baby!" came the astounded voice, belonging to a silhouette lounging against the doorjamb. On cue, Batman's eyes became glowing slits of barely-restrained malice aimed at the lanky speedster. Said lanky speedster was quite obliged not to care. "If that's not a sign of the apocalypse, I don't know what is."

Bruce was sorely tempted to reply, "Shut up, Wally," which was something he found himself wanting to say to the redhead a great deal, and the ability to resist became harder every time the opportunity presented itself. Instead, he quietly shushed the red-suited figure and glided toward the only crib showed had any sign of occupation.

"Why'd you even build this room, anyway?" Flash continued, undaunted and cheerful as ever.

"It pays to be prepared," he answered, careful to keep his voice low. Children were notoriously light sleepers, and he wasn't about to handle a squalling half-Thanagarian infant that, from what he'd heard, liked to come out swinging.

"Hey, careful now," Flash jibed with a waggle of his eyebrows, "you're starting to step on Superman's lines."

His earlier migraine returned with a vengeance, and he pinned the speedster with a harsh glare.

Flash held his hands up in placation, lips curving down in an expression of innocent shock. "Whoa, easy, Bats, we're all friends here." He paused, looking slightly hurt. "We _are _friends here, right?"

Bruce deigned not to dignify the question with a response and placed Rex in the cushion-lined crib, careful to make plenty of room for fresh air to circulate. His research into Sudden Infant Death Syndrome concluded that a majority of the cases stemmed from laying the infant on their stomach or in poorly ventilated areas, their inability to turn over causing them to eventually suffocate on their own carbon dioxide. In spite of his self-imposed embargo on all League members, he ensured that information quietly and anonymously found its way into Shayera's quarters within the first month of her pregnancy. His hand unconsciously came to rest on the baby's outstretched arm _(that wasn't even the size of his index finger) _as he flatly stared at the lean hero. "A little late for you, isn't it?"

Flash shrugged. "Hey, evil never sleeps," he commented offhandedly. "Besides, I was waiting on some test results to come in."

"Test results?"

Wally stared at him like he was dumb. "You aren't the only science whiz around here, y'know."

The urge to hit him was unusually strong, but when Rex's pudgy arm twitched beneath his fingers, the sudden spark of anger was unceremoniously snuffed out. He withdrew his hand from the crib. "I thought you only worked on forensics."

"Forensics is more than just dusting for fingerprints, Bats, you oughtta know that," Flash responded with a caustic snort. "It's chemistry, physics, some good-old fashioned detective work, and _lots _of medicine." He held up a folded sheet of paper between his fore and middle fingers, brows raised. "Wanna compare notes?"

* * *

Amanda Waller adjusted her coat for the third time in two minutes, dark eyes skittering across the barren parking lot next door to the French restaurant she and Eiling often chatted business in. She stood next to her unlocked car door, hands patiently behind her back_ (and one holding onto the handle, in case it proved to be the trap she expected it was) _and her heeled toe impatiently tapping against the cracked and resealed pavement. A gust of wind raced around the watermarked pillars of the deserted lot, causing her skin to prickle uncomfortably beneath her clothing. A fine choice for a meeting, all things concerned. It would have made a great scene in a movie.

The rumbling of a car echoed from the tightly looped ramp, its brakes wheezing and screeching sharply in the otherwise silent evening as it halted a few yards in front of her. She reached her free hand up to shield her squinted eyes, trying to discern the figures that exited the purring black vehicle. Three stepped in front of the lights, two of them casting their shadows over herself and the hulking, monstrous silhouette that lumbered toward her. For a moment, she thought it was Doomsday. She sucked in a breath when she recognized the face, despite its disfigurement. "You've seen better days, Eiling."

He wasn't in uniform, but the custom-tailored black suit he wore might as well have been, from the way he carried himself. Even as a monstrosity, he he held the same rigid posture of a lifer. "So have you, Amanda. I hear you're up to your neck in this pandemic business."

"That's why we're having this little meeting, aren't we?" she clarified archly.

"Not quite," Eiling said. Waller clenched her teeth, her fingers gripping the door handle tighter. "The Joint Chiefs had some...doubts as to whether or not you'd be willing to fully commit yourself to the task."

"You mean, whether or not I'd be capable of killing innocent civilians to save the nation?" His form was gargantuan, grotesque and deformed even beneath the fine black threads of his blazer. She did not fear him. "You know as well as I do, Eiling – I'll do _whatever _it takes to keep my country safe."

A scaled and calloused gray hand slid into his jacket, procuring a small recorder between his meaty fingers. "Commitment is more than just words and wants, Amanda," he chided as he flicked the play button on the device.

_"Time is a commodity no one can afford right now,"_ her own voice, tinny and warbling, spilled from the speakers. _"Going through official channels was the best I could do without arousing suspicion – "_

_Click._

Waller remained steely, defiant, under Eiling's damning gaze. "It takes dedication to your cause." He pocketed the recorder. "That's something you've apparently lost in the past few years."

She lifted her chin proudly, unwilling to let the slight pass. "I've done more for the stability and security of this country in the last six years than you've done in your entire tenure, _General_. And not only do I have the full backing of the United States government, I have the most dangerous man on the planet working for me on this."

A ridged eyebrow tugged up. "Is that so?" He subtly nodded to the duo behind him. One stepped forward, faceless against the glaring headlights, and held out a thick manilla folder inches from her chest.

Brows furrowed, she hesitantly released the car handle and took the offered file, asking distrustfully, "What is this?"

Eiling appeared almost smug as she opened it. "Think of it as a gift. You might want to know who you're trusting."

Wordlessly, she opened the folder and began rifling through its contents. Within, it contained dozens of pages and photographs – Ra's Al Ghul's meager government file with a foggy picture attached, a list of Batman's sightings and dated, cross-referenced to dates that Society activity peaked in the same area. "We've been keeping track of your pet Bat for a while now," Eiling continued casually, a faint leer adorning his hideous face. "He's been quite the busy bee, as you can tell."

Amanda's searching stopped abruptly when her fingertips brushed against a small stack of satellite photos taken five years prior, the location cited as Milan. In it, from an overhead angle, was Talia Al Ghul, daughter and heir-apparent to the Al Ghul operation, in the arms of one Dark Knight. She flipped to the next one. They were in a similar embrace, but her flowing purple blouse came untucked. Then... She closed the folder and her eyes. "This...doesn't mean anything," she affirmed, gripping the file tightly.

"It means," Eiling asserted, "that the daughter of the terrorist responsible for the pandemic has an intimate relationship with your _savior_."

"_Had _a relationship with," she rebuked sharply, glaring up and up at the mountain in front of her. "For all we know here, Batman could have been seducing her to get information on her father."

"So what's this, then?" he retorted, pulling out another, smaller, photo for her to see. The glossy paper illustrated in digital clarity the very same woman standing shoulder to shoulder with three founding members of the Justice League, ascending an ancient Mayan ziggurat that, she recalled from previous reports, they had suspicions of hiding a Society stronghold. "This was taken three hours ago in Honduras."

She shook her head, denying the information entry into her mind. "Why would the League purposely disseminate a disease when they have the power to take us down outright?"

"They wouldn't be the heroes, then," he explained, eyes cold. "This way, they can swoop in with the cure, save billions, and the nations of the world would be so grateful, we'd just roll right over for them."

She couldn't ignore what was in front of her, her mind working overtime to connect the dots and reignite old animosity, but...this was Batman. She wouldn't believe that he would sell out humanity for personal gain. "Batman would never go along with this willingly."

"Of all the people in the world who could come up with an idea like this, who do you think would be able to pull it off?" Eiling questioned, pointedly adding, "Don't forget, Amanda – Batman was a Justice Lord, too."

The truth in his words made her chest hurt, just a little. She ignored it. "That Batman turned the other Lords in."

"That Batman convinced his allies to take over the world." His eyes, still the same stark blue she remembered from almost half a decade ago, became nearly pitying. That was enough to make her want to vomit, in and of itself. "You're smarter than this, Amanda. _Think_."

Oh, she was. She was, and Lord above save her, she didn't want to. Batman was dangerous, cunning, manipulative – but he had _heart_. He sacrificed so much of himself for other people, gave up every semblance of a normal life to wage a war on crime that could never be won. And he did it only because he couldn't stand the thought of remaining idle while others were suffering. That was not the earmark of a man who would let billions die so he could grab even more power than he already possessed. He was already the undisputed King of Gotham, and that King was quite obviously bleeding for his beloved and ailing people. That it could all have been a ruse was...unthinkable.

But she was, anyway.

She held the folder to her chest. "What do you propose?"

"Push up the timetable," Eiling stated forcefully. "Pull all vital contingents out of Gotham by sunrise and then take the shot."

"In broad daylight, Eiling?" Her left hand went to her rounded hip. "And what are we supposed to tell the American public when they watch one of their oldest cities destroyed by a government-issued thermonuclear warhead?"

"We tell them that the nuke was an act of war from Ra's Al Ghul and all who harbor him," Eiling countered, raising two pillar-like fingers. "Two birds, one stone."

Waller mulled the idea over in her steel trap of a mind. "It has merit," she admitted, tapping her manicured nails against the manilla folder absently. "Why didn't you bring any of this to my attention earlier?"

One massive shoulder rolled indifferently, lumbering back to the black Sedan. "I thought you had it covered." Her eyes darkened at the pot shot, but before she could speak, he tossed back to her, "Someone has to watch the watchers, Amanda. Otherwise, they may forget what they're watching for."

* * *

J'onn found it difficult to breathe, at first, as he blinked dazed red eyes that stared aimlessly through the rustling canopy. Reacquainting himself with the world around him, namely the distinct lack of rumbling of the earth below him, he hauled himself from his prone position in the tall grass onto his burnt and stinging knees. Rubbing the side of his head, he focused all of his energies onto the now-imploded temple, struggling to search for his friends telepathically. He grit his teeth in annoyance when, again, Nyssa's interference prevented him from such a simple ability. He turned to the forest behind him. "Nyssa," he barked, "can you feel Green Lantern or Shayera?"

_'I'm not certain,'_ she replied inside his mind. _'Which ones are they?'_

He knew she felt his anger, and didn't care one whit. _'Nevermind.' _Rising to his feet, he dove head first into the smoldering rubble. The green blur that was the Martian Manhunter bobbed up and down through the mountain of charred stone for several moments, before the clattering of debris brought him to the surface again. Rushing forward, he began to hurl soot-covered boulders over his shoulder, helping to dig out whatever was trapped beneath him.

The mound cracked open after an agonizing fifteen seconds, revealing two very dirty and injured, but otherwise alive, Leaguers. Green Lantern cradled his unconscious wife beneath the safety of his body as the skin-tight green bubble dispersed back into his ring. He looked from Shayera to J'onn, unnaturally light emerald eyes rueful and relieved simultaneously. "Guess you were right, after all," he murmured to the Martian as he slid her into his arms more comfortably, standing with minimal assistance.

J'onn smirked grimly, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Soldiers never leave one of their own behind."

The weakest flicker of a smile graced his darkened features. "No, they don't." His focus turned to the rubble they stood amongst, expression tightening. "I lost the pit sample. There's no way to get it, now."

"Then we will make do without it," J'onn reassured.

Green Lantern grunted with a frown, staring back down at the Thanagarian. "Tell that to Batman."

* * *

"So, Nightwing," Flash began amiably.

Batman didn't look up from the microscope. "What about him?"

"How'd he go from Little Bird to Batman Lite?" he chirped, leaning against the worktable.

Batman studiously ignored him, focused intently on the droplet of blood they'd obtained from Nightwing minutes before.

"Oh, I get it," Flash said. "Personal, huh? Right. My mistake." He tapped the heel of his right foot against his left ankle. Checked the computer. Returned to lightly kicking his ankle. Scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor uneasily.

The Dark Knight sighed quietly. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "What? Nothing." Flash thought he saw Bats' hand twitch, but that could've been a trick of the light. Easily. Yeah. Totally wasn't a sign of restraint. "I'm just curious, is all. I mean, sure, we all _heard_of Batman and Robin, but I never thought that ol' Robbie number-one would be so...so..."

"Normal?" Batman evenly supplied, still pointedly analyzing the blood sample.

"Yeah – no!" Flash stammered and tried to think of a less lame way to say, 'He's totally not a whackjob like everyone assumes you are.' He decided opening that particular can of worms would only wind up with him as a Flash-pretzel. Flash-tzel? Whatever. "He's...pretty well-adjusted for growing up as one of the Longjohns Brigade, I mean."

Was that the most miniscule smirk ever on Batman's face? That _had _to have been a trick of the light. Probably just a scowl gone wrong, or something. "Nightwing has always been very strong-willed and independent," he said clinically. "I doubt I could've made him do anything he didn't want to do."

"So, why'd he stop being Robin?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

More ignoring.

"Complicated?" No response. "_Really_ complicated?" Batman adjusted the magnification of the microscope. In spite of the lack of response, or perhaps, because of it, Flash nodded in understanding. "Ooh. So, _you_ think that maybe he really didn't want to, but only _thought_ he wanted to because you were so awesome, and then decided he _didn't_ really want to, but that you _made_ him think he wanted to?" Flash rambled. It sounded like something out of some really bad soap opera, so when it came to Bats, it had at _least_a fifty percent chance of being true. He nodded again. "Yeah. Makes sense."

Batman leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Flash frowned. "Headache?"

"You have no idea."

Misinterpreting the cause, he sidled over and clapped a hand on the Caped Crusader's tensed shoulder. Feeling the already-taut muscles bulge beneath his palm wasn't a big deal. "Don't worry, Bats, between the two of us, we're bound to get this thing figured out." The terminal across the room beeped and the Scarlet Speedster zoomed over to print out the results, oblivious to how close Batman was to breaking every bone in his hand.

"Bummer," Flash groused, walking back toward Batman at a significantly slower pace. He dropped the sheets onto the table next to the silent Knight. _(Heh, silent knight – awesome.) _"The results came up negative again." Leaning onto his hands, he stared hard at the report, as if he were willing them to change or yield something more positive than what was there.

Batman quickly scanned the document, returning to the slide. "This disease has been run through every conventional test there is; did you think the best scientists and toxicologists in the world might have missed something?"

"Oh come on, Bats," Flash snapped, "you know I'm trying to help!"

He still didn't bother looking at him. "Trying to help and actually helping are two different things."

Anger was pretty rare for Wally; he was an exuberant puppy with big eyes, a big heart, and a _lot_ of excess energy to go around and get into trouble over stupid things with. When something hurt him, he was more likely to shrink back and wonder what he did wrong, rather than feel the need to make them hurt in kind. It just wasn't his _thing_. Bats had that kind of effect on people, though; making them do things they wouldn't ordinarily do – that was _his _thing. Stiffening, he dropped a hand forcefully between Batman's pointy-eared head and that stupid microscope that was getting all his attention. "Hey, look, Bats, I – "

Batman twisted his head like that one machine dude from that one scary movie he saw as a kid, and just _glared_.

He lost the ability to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Still, he gulped and managed to blurt out, "Sorry."

Unblinking, Batman returned to the microscope. He took the slide out from beneath the high-powered tool and held it out for Flash to take. "Analyze this for me."

Unsure, he plucked the small rectangular glass from the Bat's grasp. "I thought you just did."

"A second pair of eyes can't hurt." He slid another sample under the scope and began scribbling notes in that distinct chicken-scratch of his.

Flash blinked. "Didn't you just say trying to help and helping aren't the same thing?"

Batman's gaze remained steadfast on the sample. "You're helping."

He almost dropped the slide. From Batman, that was like the nicest thing he could ever say. For him, _not _wanting to leave you hanging upside down from a skyscraper was complimentary – outright saying that he was actually helping the Big Bad Bat out?

So. Awesome.

He totally wasn't going to let this go to his head. At all.

He grinned brightly, dashing to the nearest microscope, pen and paper in hand. "One majorly awesome analyzation, coming up!" He was so concerned with doing Bats proud, so concerned that he was being given a chance to really prove himself, that he didn't notice the man turn his head and stare at the Scarlet Speedster with a tiny, appreciative smirk.

* * *

Barbara trudged up the stairs of Tim's apartment building, cursing that she didn't take the elevator like she should have. What did she have to prove by walking up six flights while lugging two incredibly large paper bags full of groceries? So what if two of the men waiting inside were looking at her like fresh meat? She was _Batgirl_; she could've easily taken them in a fight. But, that would've raised questions and garnered attention, and she would have dropped all of this perfectly edible food in the process. She didn't just spend seventy-five dollars for nothing.

Besides, with guys like that, she was bound to run into them sometime soon, and then she'd...

_'Arrest them, like any officer of the law would,'_ she amended tightly. She _was _Batgirl – past tense. Bruce, and those two bullets near her spine, saw to that pretty effectively. She could still hold more than her own in a fight, but high-flying acrobatics and gymnastics were a thing of the past. She was lucky she could still use her legs at all. She supposed she had Bruce to thank for that, too.

Her booted foot landed on the landing of the sixth floor with trumpets blaring inside her skull, and she rounded the corner –

Just as someone plowed right into her, sending her sprawling down the stairs; fruit, cans, and frozen dinners tumbling down the carpeted metal steps around her. Her back on fire, she latched onto a thin steel baluster and dragged herself to her feet, the groceries forgotten. Making a gut decision, she ignored the figure in black as they disappeared through an emergency exit and sped toward Tim's room. Fists primed, heart pounding, she said to Hell to the doctors that told her she wouldn't be able to do a somersault anymore, and aimed a flying kick at the ajar door.

Barbara took one look at what was left of the room and screamed.

* * *

Flash was just about done with the third slide Batman had given him, silence stretching between them both, when he spied the Dark Knight's head perk up. He raised a finger to his ear. "Go ahead."

Keeping an eye out, Flash scribbled down another four pages of notes on the slide, ranging from haematocrit to differential white blood cell count, when he noticed Bats stiffen. Well, stiffen more than normal. "Slow down, Barbara," he ordered, "what happened?"

His ears pricked up. Barbara? The only Barbara he could think of was Barbara Gordon, who used to be Batgirl _(and here everyone thought he didn't do his homework, pshaw)_. Halfway pretending not to look – and failing miserably at it – he witnessed Batman's spare hand grip the armrest of the chair so hard that the steel began to actually _warp_. Alarm bells began going off in his head like crazy, and for a split second, he wasn't sure whether he should offer to help, or find the nearest fallout shelter to hide in, because when Batman got cheesed off, bad things started happening.

Batman stood to his full, imposing height, his glower so sharp it could cut through a sheet of paper like it wasn't even there. "Stay there – I'll be there in a minute."

A voice chattered ominously in Wally's head, _'One-percentville – population: Bats.'_

Oh, he was so unbelievably screwed.

* * *

This was logical. This was rational. Bruce knew this was going to happen; he'd counted on it, after watching the Gordon home get blown apart like cheap tinder. It was an inevitability, and after all, he had trained Tim to take care of himself – even all of the Joker's twisted machinations couldn't have completely robbed him of the ability to defend himself, right?

He felt Flash's openly worried gaze upon him and steeled himself further as he made his way to the door. Emotions did nothing for him at this point; remaining focused on the facts at hand was the singular way to solve this. Tim was young, but he was strong, and capable, and very street-smart; he would be fine.

He ignored the sense of deja vu that washed over him, knowing that he'd said those exact same words to himself four years ago, and knowing that he'd quashed the same initial fear. It did him no good. He silenced it, clamped it down, set it aside and buried it in a tiny little box to be dealt with later, because the boy needed him, and this time, he would _not _fail him.

Flash laid a hand on his shoulder for the second time in five minutes. "Bats?" he queried timidly. "A-are you...okay?"

He gaped at the Flash, wondering how anyone could possibly ask such a stupid question. He was preparing to grate out a simple, "I'm fine," but instead, actually looked at the young man before him. His selfless concern stung inexplicably; dabbing antiseptic on a fresh wound. Wally, always so trusting and compassionate to everyone – even him. Especially him. He wasn't sure he deserved it.

"Tim's gone missing," he announced, voice neutral; sterile.

Wally's eyes widened. "Robin number-_two_?" His gaunt face hardened in determination, his grip on his shoulder strengthening. "Where do you want me to start looking?"

He almost felt humbled. Almost. He shook his head. "Nowhere. Keep working on the samples."

Flash shot him a disapproving look. "C'mon, Bats, seriously? Your little Batscout's gone poof in the night, and you want me to look at _slides_? How am I supposed to do that?"

He clutched Flash's wrist tightly, yanking his hand away. "Because seven-_billion _people are depending on you to." He fell silent for a heartbeat. "Including me."

Flash still had the temerity to appear dubious of his near-confession. "If it turns out you _do _need me to find him, will you at least call me?"

No. "Yes." There was no other way.

Wally nodded, a little relieved. "Alright." A red finger was shoved an inch away from his nose. "But I'm gonna hold you to that, Bats."

"I know you will," he said. _'I'm sorry.'_

Calmly, he brushed past the Scarlet Speedster.

* * *

Diana groaned, head throbbing in time with her elevated heartbeat, throat raw and lungs burning from the bitterly cold air. Her mind swam with fading images of atrocities, of death and destruction and sorrow beyond anything she could have imagined feeling, and all from one person. Her limbs ached and her soul wept for that person, whose name and face were now too far from her mind to recall – perhaps, who her mind refused to recall. Semantics, regardless. She blinked, wrinkling her brows as she shifted on the cold, wet ground.

"Honey, she's coming to!" a voice exclaimed, a vibrato; splendorous.

Testing her limbs, she wiggled her toes in her boots and her fingers at her sides, pleased to know they were all in working order. Footsteps sounded to her left, a muted _sploosh _of water reverberating just as she felt a large, warm hand press itself tenderly against her neck, thumb brushing softly against the soft spot along her jaw. The movement was familiar and erotic, and it was enough to force her eyes open blearily.

A handsome face swam into view, concern etched on his chiseled, strong features. Warm blue eyes gazed at her own, gauging her every thought and feeling in the single tick of a watch. Her red lips curled of their own accord. "Bruce," she whispered contently.

The man blinked, eyes briefly flickering over to the woman that knelt next to him in alarm. "Bruce?"

Confusedly, she regarded Not-Bruce evenly, then took stock of the young woman at his side. They looked so _familiar _–

Her blood ran as cold as the slush she laid in. _'Oh Hera.'_

"I'm afraid you have me mistaken with someone else, ma'am," the man apologized with a kind smile that broke her heart. "My name is Thomas. Thomas Wayne."

**_To be continued..._**


	18. 18 Ancient History

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Tim's apartment was in tatters. Furniture was overturned or outright broken, the beige drapes were torn from their rings and lay puddled against the off-white carpet, both stained with splotches of drying blood. A cold gust of wind whistled through the living room via the broken sliding glass door that led to the equally demolished balcony. It was quite the desolate picture.

Or, at least, it would've been, if it were _true_.

Batman glanced at Barbara, who, by the time he'd teleported into the living room, had seemed to regain most of her composure. She still looked unusually pale, though. He frowned, kneeling at the shattered balcony door and pressing two gloved fingers solidly against the remnants of glass that littered the cement floor. "Have you canvased the scene, yet?"

Her eyes became hard, hands at her elbows. "The _scene_? In case you haven't noticed, this is – "

"Did you?"

She sighed in exasperation. "Of _course _I did," she spat. "I was your partner, and before that, a cop's daughter. I know how to observe a crime scene."

He stood. "Did you find any explosives?"

Her hands fell to her sides. "_What_?"

"A bag of C4, a stick of plastique, anything?" he ground out.

Barbara shook her head. "No, why?"

"Are you sure?"

Her anger intensified, masking her all-too palpable fear. "I would've noticed a ticking time-bomb."

His silence spoke volumes. _'You didn't when you dated me.'  
_

**18.  
Ancient History**

Barbara switched gears suddenly – she was always an incredibly efficient multitasker, he remembered – and took a step toward him. If he weren't a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than her, he might have considered it an inherent threat. "What's going on?"

He was getting really tired of hearing that question. When he didn't immediately answer, she stalked up to him, jutting a finger into his solar plexis with each word. "What's. Going. On?"

His frown deepened a fraction. "This was staged."

Barbara balked. "You're telling me _this _– " she waved a hand around her incredulously, "was all staged."

"Look at the evidence," he answered succinctly, pointing to the sparkling shards near his feet. "The glass from the sliding-glass door landed on the balcony floor – which means that whoever broke it, did so from _inside _the apartment."

"That could have been from the struggle," she supplied.

"Then the curtains wouldn't by laying the way they are." Batman nudged the blood-spattered cloth with the toe of his boot, craning his head to eye the rings that hung along the aluminum pole just above him. "Look at the where the drapes landed, and where the rings are in comparison."

Barbara stood carefully behind him, analyzing both points of interest with steely features. "It... It looks like they fell straight down," she admitted with furrowed brows.

"Or were torn down," he added distantly, observing the seeming randomness of the destruction. Why would Ra's go through all this trouble to fabricate a struggle?

"You didn't answer my question, Bruce," she needled, eyes narrowing. "You know what's going on."

He shook his head slowly. "Not entirely." He turned to her. "Where does this building store its security feeds?"

Barbara started for the door. "In the basement. I'll show you." He followed, but was stopped short by a small hand pressed against his chest. "But I deserve to know what's happening."

He would have preferred to keep her out of it. However, Ra's was fast making that impossible. He supposed it was best to get her up to speed. "I'll tell you once we get there."

She gazed up at him, all beauty and light, anger _(momentarily) _forgotten, but still unsure. Damn him for doing that to her. "Promise me."

He relented begrudgingly. "I promise."

Barbara nodded and slid out the door.

* * *

Diana sat in the padded booth, politely tugging at the fur coat donated to her by one smiling Martha Wayne, and stared at the couple. She hadn't been to the Manor all that much, but she'd seen the painting that hung like a holy shroud over the fireplace. At the time, she thought that their expressions were vibrant, but now, sitting across from them in a tiny restaurant on Gotham City's lower east side, she decided that whoever painted that picture of the couple did not – could not – fully capture their essence.

She noted that they were younger than what she had seen; both looked no older than their mid-twenties, Thomas clean-shaven, Martha with her shoulder-length brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail – likely, that meant Bruce wasn't even born, yet. While that helped prevent any universe-shattering paradoxes, the tactician in her still tried to discern what any of this had to do with Batman's fate in the present day. Still, the opportunity to meet the people who held Bruce's heart more than anyone else that had ever existed was simply too amazing to pass up.

Too bad _they _could never know that.

"A model, you say?" Martha asked inquisitively, stirring her cup of tea delicately with a spoon.

_'Hera, grant me strength,' _she prayed to the Goddess, _'so I don't make a complete fool out of myself.'_

Diana nodded. "Yes. In Paris."

Thomas sat back and smiled fondly, his expression kind and untroubled. It seemed so odd from a disturbingly familiar face – she'd never seen more than a faint smirk or a clearly fake playboy grin out of Bruce. "Paris; what a beautiful city!" he sighed, drumming the fingers of his right hand against the wooden tabletop as his left tapped against his dark blue coffee mug. "I remember visiting there one summer; the wine was cheap, and the women were – "

"Thomas!" Martha exclaimed.

He blinked and gaped at her innocently. "Dressed oddly," he finished with a slightly hurt lilt. His eyes darted to her with a hint of mischief. "But nothing as oddly as you, Diana – if I may."

"This is just a...fashion statement, from my employers," she lied, inwardly wincing at how poor it sounded. _ 'Forgive me, Athena, for cheapening your offer so thoroughly.' _"I have to admit, I've grown rather used to it since arriving here."

Martha blinked, startled. "You didn't bring a change of clothes?"

She bit her lower lip. "I," she shrugged, "wasn't exactly expecting to find myself alone for so long. I only wanted to see the sights, and..."

"Found yourself in one of Gotham's gutters?" Martha supplied with an arched brow and a small, amused smirk. Now, _that _was more in line with Bruce's range of emotions.

Diana tucked a hair behind her ear. Then she remembered what Nightwing had said to her earlier and dropped her hand to her lap. "I guess I wandered a bit too far."

Thomas rested an arm on the table. "And you have no memory of how you got there?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Doctor Wayne."

He dismissed her formality with a jovial wave of his hand. "Please, call me Thomas. 'Doctor Wayne' makes me feel old."

Her smile wavered briefly, like a candle that was caught in a gust of wind. "I'm sorry. I've heard a great deal about what you've done for this city. Calling you by your first name feels disrespectful."

"No disrespect here," he assuaged. "I do what I can for Gotham because I care about her people – and you can't care about something you can't connect with."

Martha laid a hand on his outstretched arm, leaning over the table conspiratorially. "Thomas was the one who found you, you know. He absolutely wouldn't leave your side until he knew you were alright." Thomas looked away and scratched at the back of his head, embarrassed.

Diana's brows twitched down in surprise. "How long were you two waiting there?"

"Only a couple of minutes," Thomas half-grumbled, clearly flustered by the praise. Somehow, his reaction and mannerisms reminded her vaguely of Kal. She wondered if Bruce came to that conclusion, too; it would explain why he kept the Kryptonian at arm's length. "I certainly wasn't going to leave her laying in the snow!"

Martha patted her husband gently on the arm. "Oh, I know, dear – I'm only teasing you."

He glanced askew at her, as if wary. "You _always _tease me."

Martha grinned deviously. "That's because it's so easy."

Thomas grunted, resting his chin against an upraised fist, grousing, "You could try shooting fish in a barrel." Martha snorted, mimicking his gesture with her left fist and staring at him with arched eyebrows. His gaze flickered over to her thrice, frowning. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Staring at me like that."

"Why?"

"I'm angry."

"No, you're not."

His eyebrow quirked up. "You think so?"

She grinned between her fingers. "I know so."

Thomas continued to pout for another five seconds, staring down his wife, before he buckled and dropped his fist to the table with a light _thud_. "Oh, alright." He nudged her with his elbow and a leer. "You're lucky I love you."

Martha smiled back in return. "I know."

Diana took in the quiet and startlingly private exchange with interest. They were...cute together. Contented and completely at ease with one another. She felt a sudden pang of sadness, knowing deep down that even if something were to ever arise between herself and Bruce, it would never be this comfortable. He would never _let _it be this comfortable.

Martha's hazel eyes regarded her curiously. Thomas followed her gaze, glancing between the two. He then stood to his full height, running a hand down his blazer to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed. "If you'll excuse me, ladies, I'm going to check on our order." He bent down, pecking his wife on the crown of her head and whispering into her hair, "Be nice."

Martha acknowledged his comment with a glib nod and shooed her husband away. She watched him weave through the tables and disappear around the corner before turning her attention back to the Amazon. "Diana," she asked, "may I ask you a question?"

Wonder Woman nodded respectfully. "Of course, Mrs. Wayne."

Martha folded her hands on the lacquered table in front of her, pitched forward a little, and smiled. It was not a kind smile. "Who are you really?"

Diana blinked. "Diana Prince, Mrs. – "

She glared.

Oh. So, _that's _where he got it from.

"Don't lie to a psychologist, dear. It never ends well for you." Her eyes flitted to the hallway her husband disappeared down a moment prior. "You aren't the first stray that Thomas has picked up off the street – " Diana bristled. " – And I sincerely doubt you'll be the last. That man can't walk two blocks without promising to rescue someone from their ill fortune."

Diana coolly replied, "You make that sound like a bad thing."

Her grin became more severe. "Oh, it's a wonderful, selfless, _charitable _trait – and there have been plenty that have seen that charity as a free pass to get whatever they please."

"Isn't he a renowned doctor and businessman?" Diana retorted neutrally. "I would think that his line of work requires being a good judge of character."

"He is an _excellent_ judge of character," Martha agreed emphatically, defensively, even. "But he simply can't stand to see someone suffering, no matter the reason." Her eyes, by this point, had changed from their warm brown to a dark, unforgiving green. "And because of that, he needs someone to remind them that _his_ best interest is in _their _best interest."

Diana squared her shoulders, unable to fully shake off the indignation she felt at the accusation – however reasonable the accusation might have been. "I would never try to take advantage of anyone's hospitality."

"Then why haven't you told us the truth?" Martha questioned pointedly.

Diana looked away, unwilling to lie, but unable to answer. _'So much for not making a fool of myself.'_

Martha's expression softened as the silence dragged on, brown seeping back into the glittering emerald. "Are...you in some sort of danger?" She reached forward and laid a hand on her fur-covered bracer, forcing another round of eye contact. Like before, her visage was forceful, but there was now an added layer of compassion that softened the edges. She recognized the maternal instinct for what it was, and respected it. "My husband and I know a great deal of people – we can help protect you, if need be."

Diana looked down the still-vacant hallway. "Should we be discussing this without your husband present?"

Martha waved off her question with a caustic snort. "I'd be shocked if Thomas didn't offer to escort you to the safe-house personally."

Diana murmured, "He has a strong conscience."

"He has a _guilty _conscience," Martha amended, features clouded. "He blames himself for every death in that hospital, even if he had nothing to do with the case. He truly believes he can single-handedly save everyone in this city." She gazed sharply at the Amazon, devotion and the instinctual need to protect what was hers shining brightly in those hazel eyes. "I'm sure you see my dilemma."

Diana's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. Funny, how the Fates weaved the lives of mortals together the way they did. "I can," she answered, taking a deep breath and lifting her chin. "I appreciate your offer, Mrs. Wayne, but I assure you, I'm not in any kind of trouble. My story is just..." She struggled for the right word. "Unorthodox. It isn't one many would believe."

"Tall tales are my favorite kind," a voice rang out jovially. Both she and Martha jumped as Thomas shoved off from the banister behind them, uncrossing his arms and ambling up to the booth. "Sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop on your girl-talk, but..."

Martha scowled at him. "Yes, you did."

He slid into the red-cushioned seat with a bright grin. "Yes, I did. Can you blame me?" He turned to Diana as he pointed in Martha's direction with his thumb. "I especially loved the part where she called me a sucker."

"I did not call you a sucker, Thomas!"

"Subtext, dear." He rested his elbows against the pine table, fingers laced against his chin. "So, I believe you left off at 'once upon a time'?"

Diana laughed, unable to resist the affection and humanity that rolled off of the young doctor in waves. If only her sisters had ever met a man like this, perhaps their hatred of Man's World would not be so all-encompassing. She stared at the couple, marveling at how joyous and _alive _they were, and found that, like their son, they were simply too large to be denied. "Alright," she acquiesced. "Once upon a time, I was born on an island called Themyscira..."

* * *

Barbara kept her expression as clear as she could manage as she digested the information Bruce just gave her. Daddy's house, gone? The Batcave destroyed? Nevermind the fiasco about Leopard Fever, Ra's Al Ghul, and talk of outright genocide – and now Tim was embroiled in all of this.

She rubbed the heel of her palm down her face wearily, resting her hand on the chair that Bruce sat in as he downloaded the camera feeds from the building's in-house datacenter. "How are you holding up?"

As expected, she received no answer. Instead, he pointed to the monitor; specifically, to the playback of her rendezvous with the stairs. "Look." She winced at the replay; she'd tumbled end over end in what looked to be a rather painful manner, but at the time, she was so busy relying on instinct and training that she only felt the burning of her back, and not the welts that were currently forming on her arms and legs. "Did you see that?"

She squinted at the screen. She needed to get glasses. "Him slamming into me at full speed? Yeah, I was there."

"No, this." He paused and rewound the video, replaying it at a reduced speed. In slow-motion, Barbara witnessed the perp forcefully sticking his arms out, shoving into her as hard as he possibly could, shifting around and somersaulting overhead, hand planted along her side, obscured by her coat...

She went rigid. "Wait." She plunged her hand into her coat, seconds later yanking out a device from the folds of her jacket lining. She held it up to the minimal light just to make sure that she wasn't starting to see things that weren't there.

It was a bat-shaped tracer.

Barbara gaped at Batman, then at the tracer, and then at the paused screen of the black-clad thug frozen mid-flip. They both recognized the pose, in spite of the garb. "My god," she murmured, "was that _Tim_?"

Batman was instantly on his feet, cape swirling angrily behind him as he charged up the service steps. She pocketed the device and followed briskly in his wake. "Tim knew where the cameras were placed," he explained hurriedly, taking the stairs three at a time. "He purposely avoided them so no one would be able to tip off Ra's men to the switch."

"Why would he trash his own apartment?"

"Authenticity." He wheeled around a corner, slipping through the steel-reinforced emergency door that led to the sixth floor. "Ra's knows that he was Robin, he'll have expected a struggle from him." He halted at the ajar apartment door, scanning the area. "There are cameras lining this entire hallway, in order for him to have hidden the body – "

"Body?" she reiterated. "You think he – ?"

"No," Bruce answered quickly, firmly. "Whoever attacked him is likely unconscious." He entered the domicile, making a beeline to Tim's bedroom. "Tim knows that he'll only have a limited amount of time before he's made, so he'll have put him somewhere that no one will readily access..." He trailed off, abruptly reaching behind Tim's disaster area of a desk and tugging up a black, unmarked duffel bag. His movements were unusually slow, not quite as precise and measured as they normally would be, as he opened the bag and pulled out a garishly bright red costume that dangled from his grip like a fallen banner. Bruce stared at the suit, unmoving, for nearly fifteen seconds.

Barbara closed the distance and placed a hand, so much smaller than his, on his clenched fist. "Bruce."

He remembered himself, gently placing the suit onto the desk and searching through the rest of the jean duffel. "His utility belt is gone. Along with his mask." He dropped the black bag on top of the suit haphazardly, gazing through the wall for another moment.

She touched the bag tentatively. He'd stashed a Robin costume all this time...? After everything that happened? She shook her head. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

By then, Bruce had finished his cursory examination of the bedroom, stepping over a broken lamp and two overturned tables to head back into the living room. While he went through the area with a fine-toothed comb, Barbara busied herself with checking the guest room Tim had offered her when she arrived earlier that week. She'd politely declined – after all, she'd booked a hotel closer in the heart of the city in case of a work emergency, and...on a personal level, she just couldn't handle listening to him scream while he slept anymore. It tore at her in ways she would never admit to anyone. Looking upon the empty room, now, knowing that he'd likely arranged it specifically with her in mind... She halted at the twin bed, running her hand over the white and gray patterned quilt – she'd given that to him as a housewarming gift. Her fingers bunched into the cotton angrily. Oh, she was such an idiot for not staying with him! So busy being selfish and petty, she couldn't even bother to stay one night! She sat down on the bed wearily, running a hand through her hair.

Something brushed against her ankle.

Stifling a yelp, she shot off the bed and backed away, poised to lash out. Steadying her breath, she carefully and silently knelt down at the base of the bed, grabbed a fistful of quilt and threw it onto the mattress.

In the other room, Bruce was busying himself with collecting a dried blood sample from the carpet fibers when he heard Barbara call out urgently, "Batman!" Slipping the baggie into a pouch, he hurried into the guest room to find her standing tensely next to a twin bed, holding a section of covers in a death grip. She motioned to beneath the mattress. "I found something for you."

He dropped to one knee, curving his body down to get a better look at Barbara's catch. Jammed beneath the box-spring, bound, gagged, and bleeding, was a nearly naked Society foot soldier. The man's gaze, as they fell upon his serpentine silhouette blocking all of his view, became unfocused and glassy; his breath, already erratic, quickening and whistling through his nose in frightened gasps. The Dark Knight's eyes narrowed to soulless, menacing slits in response, his voice low, like the ominous rumbling of thunder, as he stretched one hand forward and growled, "You and I need to have a little _talk_."

* * *

Thomas propped his chin against his knuckles. "Let me see if I understand this," he began. "You're a super-powerful princess from a race of immortal warrior women, who's traveled back to the past in order to find information that could save humanity from a plague that's ravaging the planet in your time?"

Wonder Woman nodded. "Essentially."

He tossed an astounded look at Martha, and then shrugged. "Well then. Where do we start?"

Diana gaped at the doctor, surprised at his lack of dismissal. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

"Oh, I think you're absolutely insane," Thomas replied with a cheeky grin as he took out a small pad and paper from the breast pocket of his blazer, plopping the medical pad onto the lacquered pine table. "But, on the off chance you're _not_," he added, pressing in the spring-loaded button on his ballpoint pen, "well, who am I to deny help to billions?"

Martha caught her gaze knowingly. "See what I put up with?"

Diana smiled quietly in return.

* * *

In spite of the crisis in Gotham, the Watchtower was largely silent since they were forced to sit on their laurels and wait for something to happen. The quietude, which _should _have been a godsend for Nyssa, turned out to be an extra curse, as the on-board League members continually turned over what few answers they had in the hopes of uncovering more. It proved difficult to concentrate on the Martian Manhunter, who stood impassively across from her in one of their brightly lit examination rooms. Even though she had never stepped foot aboard the floating complex, she felt as though she had been there for years. In some respects, she had.

"Nyssa," J'onn began after a lengthy pause, "do you remember our agreement?"

"Where is Batman?" she asked abruptly. She had tried to find her mother's mind, to cling to it and steady herself against the torrent of unfamiliar thoughts, but as always, Mother's mind was just as chaotic, if not more so, than the maelstrom around her. Being at the mercy of thousands seemed almost easier to deal with.

"Batman's whereabouts should not be your concern," J'onn responded carefully.

"Please," she continued, forcing back a swell of panic. She had believed that being so far away from the Earth's surface would make it _better_, not worse. "Without a mind to connect with, to hold onto, it can be very difficult to keep myself...intact."

His red eyes became more luminescent, falling silent for a moment. "Then I will offer you mine."

Nyssa's gaze was piercing, distrusting. "You had difficulties interacting with my mind, either. Are you sure that is wise?"

"Do either of us have a choice?" he retorted, eyebrow arched.

She briefly felt around for another viable mind, one strong enough to withstand her, one calm enough to ground her, and found only his. She bowed her head minutely. "No."

The Martian nodded and sat down stiffly. "Very well. When do you wish to begin?"

"Now," she answered, immediately before she opened the floodgates on him.

* * *

Amanda Waller tightened her coat around her as she turned off the ignition on her car. Sitting on the passenger seat, like a smoking gun, was the manilla folder that held every last bit of information that she would have ever needed to take down the Justice League once and for all. It was sorted meticulously and incredibly thorough; times, dates, locations, numbers. There was more than enough here to send every League member, backer, and supporter to the gallows for high treason – in multiple countries.

She held onto the wheel numbly, cold from the unnaturally cool September evening, and stared at the pile of documents, a single photo of Batman and Talia Al Ghul peeking out from beneath its cardboard confines. She sighed, reaching over to scoop the file up into her grasp, sliding out of the car door and locking it behind her. Tiredly, she trudged up the cement steps of her D.C. townhouse, housekeys jingling, and stopped just shy of turning the lock as an epiphany struck her.

This folder had _everything_.

Amanda spent years hammering away for something solid to give to her superiors, and she couldn't even so much as find a _breadcrumb _of damning evidence to use against the League, let alone the mountain she held against her chest. If the US government had been compiling all of this behind her back, why wait until now to show it?

She shifted her keys to into her right hand and hastily yanked out her cell phone to confirm her suspicions, when her previous conversation with Eiling sprang to mind. She flipped her phone shut. Whatever else the former General was intending to do, he was right about one thing – who else could be listening in on her? No, she needed something more anonymous. She scanned the area, spying a telephone booth across the street.

Waller smirked. Well, it worked for Superman.

* * *

Barbara stood anxiously amid the wreckage of Tim's living room, continuing to fight the urge to call the local authorities. Five years ago, she wouldn't have felt so guilty over it, but having worked in the system for so long, having seen how vigilantes like Batman _(and Batgirl) _tainted entire investigations, all the moonlighting she used to do made her a little queasy to her stomach now.

Batman – Bruce – was a hero, a trailblazer, a great and selfless man that gave everything for a populace who would never see him as anything other than an idiot or a lunatic. But Batman had served his purpose. A generation of children grew up watching mafia empires topple and armies of street thugs scattered into whatever darkened holes they crawled out of. They grew up with the knowledge that they _could _stand up for what was right, and they were doing just that – GCPD enrollment had more than quadrupled in ten years, with students of law and criminal justice pouring into the universities to try their hand at finishing what Batman started over twenty years ago.

Batman, for all his skills and adaptability, was fast becoming a relic of a bygone era. And yet, she was still letting Bruce interrogate the perp illegally, _very _illegally, in order to get information on a crisis that affected the entire world. She justified it as being necessary – this one time, Batman was still necessary.

This time only.

She told herself that firmly.

A hulking black silhouette emerged from the shattered balcony door, framed glumly against the dimly lit sky. "Ra's has a _vaccine_," he declared in a way that, for him, sounded hopeful. "He gave it to all of his soldiers before he let the disease loose." He shoved his cape aside and held out a small vial of dark red liquid. "I took a sample of his blood in the hopes that I could reverse engineer it." He carefully placed the sample into one of the many pouches of his utility belt. "How good are your hacking skills?"

Her stomach tightened. She had just gotten used to not having to look over her shoulder every time she was on the GCPD computers. "Still better than yours. Why?"

"He mentioned something about a seal," Batman explained, stalking to Tim's bedroom for a second time.

"A seal?" she repeated. "A seal on what?"

"I don't know," he admitted, quarter-turning to glance over his shoulder at Barbara, expression unreadable. "That's where you come in."

Her back flared, red-hot, beneath the folds of her blue turtleneck; reminding her all-too strongly of what happened when she got involved in extralegal affairs of vigilantes. Still, a small voice, one that sounded strangely like Daddy, kept chiding at her. _'The world needs you, Barbara – _Batman_ needs you,'_ it said. _'Help them.'_

"Alright –_ this time_, and _only _because the world is in danger,"she emphasized with a finger, "I'll help you." She sucked in a deep, long-suffering breath and bit the proverbial bullet. "What do you need?"

Batman picked up the duffel bag that he'd left on the metal desk and began rifling through its meager contents. "I need to know if any artifacts, relics, or archeological finds have gone missing recently. I also need an up-to-date analysis on worldwide seismic and geothermal activity."

"That sounds awfully specific for an, 'I don't know.'" He didn't respond, dropping the black bag to the table as he held up a round object between his thumb and forefinger with a pronounced frown. Barbara blinked. "Is that a tracer?" When he ignored her again, thus answering her question in the affirmative, her face screwed up in incredulity. "You bugged his _duffel bag_?"

"No. I bugged all of his suits," he replied, adding under his breath, "for all the good it did." He placed the costume into the knapsack and slung the now-filled bag over his right shoulder. He curtly brushed past her, then stopped in the open doorway, his head stooped so the ears of his cowl wouldn't catch against the top of the frame. The second of silence that followed was excruciating. "Barbara..." he began softly, voice stilted.

Her back pulsed in pain in time with her heartbeats. She couldn't stand to hear his apology. Not now. "Don't."

Something flickered across his face, but it vanished as quickly as it came. "Right," he stated, barely fitting his broad shoulders through the thin door frame. "I'll be in touch."

She felt a twinge of regret on top of the near-constant ache of her back. The gunshot wounds hadn't been his fault. "Bruce – "

He disappeared in a flash of hazy blue light.

She snorted. "Always gotta leave 'em hanging, huh?"

* * *

Thomas sat, pressed formal shirt rolled up to his elbows, the back of his pen lightly clamped between his teeth, while Diana scanned his notes from across the table. He grimaced and took the pen from his mouth, tearing the paper from its sleeve and crumpling it up. "That wouldn't work, either," he growled, dropping his head to his propped up hand and raking his nails across his scalp in agitation.

Martha, concerned, rested a hand against his shoulder. "Thomas, don't wear yourself out," she chided soothingly, catching the Amazon's eyes briefly.

Diana, for her part, felt like a heel. "I wish I had brought along Batman's notes. You would have more accurate information to go on, then."

"No, no, I've been given more than enough to work with," Thomas assured her, tossing her a faintly perturbed look. "This...uh, '_Batman_' of yours seems to have researched every angle I would've cared to look at. Is he a physician?"

A warning flare streaked across the expanse of her mind. She had to change the topic of conversation immediately. "No, he's...just very thorough in his research, as he is with everything he does."

The doctor's thick eyebrow and lip quirked up in unison, light blue eyes boring into hers evenly. She suppressed a groan. Oh no. She knew that look. "So I've gathered – his knowledge of neurology, immunotoxins, and infectious diseases is very detailed. He probably knows more on the subjects than _I_ do," he confessed, steepling his fingers against his chin. "I don't see how someone like him could need _my _help. I'm just your average doctor."

She struggled to find a way to give them the truth without actually giving them the _full _truth. "To be honest, I'm not sure why I wound up at this particular time and place, only that something I learn here will be vital in saving Batman's life."

Thomas and Martha shared another look, much like the one they'd given when she blurted their eventual-son's name. Oh Gods above, what did she just do? "This Batman of yours – " Why did they keep saying he was _her _Batman? " – I take it you're good friends with him?"

"He is a seasoned and unparalleled warrior among his people, and a renowned tactician. He's responsible for saving humanity numerous times," she disclosed proudly. If nothing else – even if they would never know who she spoke of – they deserved to know, on some level, that their son was as worthy and honorable a successor to their name as there ever could be. "I have a great respect for his deeds. Man's World can't afford to lose him now."

A third look passed between the young couple, before Thomas frowned apologetically. "Well, unfortunately, whatever it is you're dealing with is unlike anything I've ever seen before," he professed. "I don't think I'll be of any help to you or your friends. I'm sorry."

She stamped down the twinge of disappointment, smiling faintly and nodding. "That's alright. It was worth a try, in any case."

"Where will you go now?" Thomas inquired.

Diana rolled one shoulder. "I'm not certain. I believe the Gods will guide me in the right direction, though." She slid from the booth and rose to her feet. "Thank you for your hospitality."

She began slip the fur-lined suede coat off, but halted when Martha held out a hand. "Keep it."

"That's alright, Mrs. Wayne, I don't really need – "

The diminutive woman's eyes flickered green. "Keep it," she repeated.

Diana weighed her options, and opted not to spurn the gift being offered to her. She tugged the coat over her bare shoulders. "...Thank you, Mrs. Wayne. And you, too, Doct – Thomas. I've read stories about the both of you, but..." She felt saddened at leaving so soon after having met them – they were kind, caring, intelligent people. _Doomed_ people. Her heart tweaked in pain. "They didn't do you justice." _'No, the Fates truly didn't.'_

Thomas rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. Then, he seemed to materialize next to her. "At least let me see you out safely."

She shook her head demurely. "I appreciate the thought, but I – "

"Please, Princess?"

Oh, Hera. _Princess_. In _that_ voice. With _that_ face. And _not _that man.

All those centuries of training and discipline melted like butter. She acquiesced. "Okay."

He grinned brightly, hooking out an elbow for her to take. "Shall we, your Highness?"

She caught herself smiling in return, and flitted her gaze over her shoulder to his wife. She winked at her and waved them both off.

Thirty seconds after they disappeared out the front door, a figure disentangled themselves from the shadows of a nearby booth, quietly slinking into the seat that Diana just vacated. Martha met his dark eyes inquisitively. "Was that her?"

"It was," he confirmed impartially. "She said her name was Diana?"

Martha nodded. "Do you know her?"

"Can't say that I do," he replied, "and I would remember a face like that."

She looked over her shoulder, stooping down a bit. She felt like a harlot, sitting with another man besides Thomas, discussing another mysterious woman that he just left with. "How did you know she would be here?"

He smoothed back his dark, red-streaked hair, running his fingers over the shock of white absentmindedly. "I felt the ebb and flow of magic – I knew someone would be arriving soon."

"Oh, please, Jason," Martha scoffed, "you know I don't believe in that nonsense!"

Jason Blood smiled thinly. "If you didn't believe me, Martha, why did you carry around that trinket like I asked you to?"

Martha flushed a little. "You're my friend. I trust you not to make a fool out of me."

His smile grew. "Was I wrong?"

She glanced over her shoulder again, pressing her hand where the pocket containing the supposedly enchanted ring _would _be, if that pocket weren't attached to a coat that currently hung from the shoulders of an Amazon princess. "I guess we'll find out."

He shook his head. "No. _We _won't."

* * *

Thomas stopped at the street corner, the overhead lamp slicing through the otherwise impenetrable darkness. He took a cursory look around before letting go of Diana's hand; Park Row wasn't quite as safe as it used to be. "Are you sure you'll be alright from here?"

She flashed perfect white teeth at him teasingly. "Need I remind you, Thomas, I _am _an Amazon."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I relent."

Diana stepped forward, voice sincere. "Thank you for believing me. Not many would have, in your place."

He shrugged off the compliment. "I'm happy to have listened." He scuffed the bottom of his shoe against the pavement once. "Well..."

She inhaled deeply, smiling wide. "It really has been good to meet you. I..." She paused, contemplative. "I never really thought I'd ever get the chance."

He whistled, shoving his throbbing hands into his pockets for what little protection they offered. "That far ahead, huh?"

Her blue eyes were so sad. "Unfortunately."

He smiled ruefully, feeling his chapped lips sting from the cold. "Just as well, I suppose." He took a step back and bowed his head in goodbye. "Take care of yourself, Princess." She nodded and disappeared into the darkness of a Gotham City night.

Thomas remained there for another few minutes, watching the steam puff from his lips and curl into nothingness, carried away by the bitter February wind. He ignored the chill that ran up his spine and the way his ears pulsed painfully from the lack of heat. He'd always been the sentimental, softie type. He'd always wanted kids – a whole litter of them, running and screaming through the Mansion, tearing the entire place up on a daily basis while unsupervised, as kids were supposed to do. He already had trust funds set up for at least the first four, untouched and untouchable by anyone except himself and Martha. He even had names picked out. He always told himself he'd name his eldest after one of his grandparents.

Coincidentally enough, his paternal grandfather had been named Bruce.

Silly. That's what Martha would tell him. And she'd be right, of course, because Martha usually _was _right about those kinds of things. Still, he gazed skyward into the starless night and let his mind wander, anyway.

Like he said. Tall tales were his favorite kind.

**_To be continued..._**


	19. 19 Beneath the Surface

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

The first thought that crossed Batman's mind as he stared at the lanky, pale-faced teen that sat motionlessly in the examination room was how eerily similar she looked like Talia, who remained stoically at her side. That fact should not have struck him as much as it did; given how Talia seemed to have inherited most of her father's attributes – hair color, eye color, complexion, and predilection for betrayal – it stood to reason that her genes would likely be the dominate ones with any children she were to have. "How is she?"

J'onn stood beside him, eyes glowing a constant, fierce crimson from whatever link he shared with her. "She's unstable."

He ground his teeth together. Great. The last thing they could afford was more instability. The last thing _he _could afford was another Ace. "Mentally or physically?"

"Both," J'onn answered. "Her telepathic abilities are strong – _too _strong for her to control."

Another child, robbed of a normal, healthy life. "So she's dangerous."

J'onn shook his head. "Only to herself. And only if she doesn't have an anchor."

He raised a brow, looking askance at the Martian. "Anchor?"

"Nyssa's powers are extremely potent, but unfocused," he explained, voice a warm monotone. "It appears she has engineered a way to link herself to another person's mind, in order to prevent getting lost in the internal chaos of those around her. It is a rather ingenious solution."

"Necessity is the mother of invention," Batman replied dully. "Have you learned anything from her?"

J'onn's visage tightened in consternation. "You remember the presence in your mind earlier."

He gazed blankly at Nyssa through the glass even as his hands curled into fists at his side. It just couldn't be simple, could it? "The girl?"

J'onn nodded. "Yes."

If he were another man, one that didn't bear the weight of millions while clinging to the edges of a fraying rope, he might have laughed. Seven billion people on Earth, and the one caught playing peeping Tom with his mind was Talia's daughter. It really was a painfully, bitterly small world.

**19.  
Beneath the Surface  
**

Batman stated with certainty, "She was Waller's mystery telepath."

J'onn regarded him evenly. "You knew it was her."

He grunted. "I knew it had to be someone important for Waller to go to such lengths to hide their identity. This makes sense – I don't think the government would look too kindly on Cadmus training the granddaughter of a Kill-on-Sight alumni." The teen's aristocratic features remained devoid of any emotion as she sat. He pondered if she was always so restrained, or if it was only a side-effect of her 'anchoring' to another's consciousness. "How did Waller find her?"

"It was Nyssa who contacted her," J'onn clarified, adding more cautiously, "she learned of Waller and Project Cadmus through you."

_That _got his attention. He shot the Martian a wary, nearly accusatory glare. "The documents said the subject was admitted six years ago."

J'onn's long face became pinched in something that could have been minor pain. "Her connection with you lasted far longer than you may realize."

"_How _long?"

J'onn hesitated. "Nearly a decade."

His head snapped in the Martian's direction. "That's not possible." He would've noticed something if it had been occurring for that long. Things just didn't slip by him, not like that.

An uncharacteristically timid voice reminded him, _'There _was _Leslie – '_

He mercilessly crushed the dissenting train of thought. Neither the time nor the place. "How much does she know?"

"About Ra's Al Ghul, or you?"

He didn't like the way J'onn read into his question. He liked even less the way J'onn's counter-question essentially answered his own. He fought back the sudden, powerful wave of nausea and ignored the way his flesh crawled beneath his Kevlar armor. "Either."

Green brows drew together momentarily. "This is something you may wish to discuss further with Nyssa herself."

A spark of anger rose in his chest. He made no attempt to snuff it out. "I'm discussing it with you."

J'onn exhaled; a soft, defeated sound. "As I said, her powers are too strong for her to control. She can't choose what information she picks up from those around her."

He frowned. It sounded as though the girl's trip to Cadmus left her with nothing to show for it. That concerned him slightly. "And those she's anchored to?"

"She is little more than a spectator."

His relief that she hadn't gone snooping around in his subconscious was tempered by the knowledge that she'd still had access to his waking thoughts for the better part of ten years, if J'onn was to be believed. He felt his pulse pound behind his eyes. Talia's daughter...he did _not _need this. "Has Superman had any luck with the Cuban officials?"

J'onn made a noncommittal sound of denial. "Did you expect him to?"

"No. That's why I told him not to bother. They wouldn't listen to Superman." In fact, he'd explicitly told Kent that it would only arouse suspicion and tip their hand. But, of course, he had to fly off like the Boyscout he was and ask questions to a government that was more than happy to ignore the League every other time of the day except when it involved their hides getting saved.

Suddenly, he found himself wishing that he'd accepted Jim's offer to a cup of coffee earlier that evening. He was fairly certain he was beginning to feel the effects of severe caffeine withdrawal.

"That's why Superman didn't ask the questions," a baritone riposted airily from beside them. Superman strode through the closing double doors, expression fairly grim – for him, anyway. "I have some connections within the Cuban government that were able to give me these." He held up a small stack of papers for the two to take.

Batman grabbed them with a gloved hand as he asked, "Since when does Clark Kent have connections?"

Clark smiled wanly. "Bruce Wayne isn't the only one who can hobnob at dinner parties."

"Bruce Wayne is usually the one _throwing _those dinner parties."

Superman furrowed his brows. "Has anyone told you that it's strange to refer to yourself in the third person?"

He flipped a page. "Once or twice." He studied the newest sheet in front of him, the lines chiseled into his steely features deepening with discontent. "They've finished building the reactor."

Kent motioned at the files ominously. "Keep reading." He continued, suspecting he already knew the answer. He wasn't proven wrong. "After years of trying to beg, barter, and steal whatever money they could get to complete Juragua, sometime last year, the Cuban government suddenly gets the entire lump sum from a 'private investor'." Kent grinned acerbically at him. "Know any golfing buddies that would up and donate eight-hundred _million _dollars to a failed nuclear reactor in a foreign country?"

He gripped the papers tightly. He should have seen this coming. He _would_ have seen this coming, if he hadn't tunnel-visioned on Gotham to the point of isolationism. _'Wasn't that how you started out, though?'_ a voice hissed in the recesses of his mind. _'Isn't that what you wanted to go back to? _Simplicity_? The rest of the world wasn't your _problem _anymore, remember?'_

"We need to find out _exactly _what they built in that reactor," he declared.

J'onn pursed his lips in thought. "It may be possible for me to infiltrate their ranks and learn more of their plans." Like wax, his body melted into an amorphous, floating puddle of green, and immediately reformed into that of a masked, black-garbed thug several inches shorter than them both. The now-human Martian Manhunter lolled his head up to meet his gaze, dark eyes glinting in the florescent light.

Batman mulled his options, weighing the risks. Having him go in alone would be dangerous under the best of circumstances, but with Ra's having access to his countermeasures, it could easily turn into a deathtrap. Still, the opportunity was there, and they had to seize it. He trusted J'onn's capabilities. He would have to. "Find whatever you can use, but get in and out as fast as possible. Maintain radio silence unless absolutely necessary."

J'onn's false guise fluidly morphed back into the humanoid form everyone had grown accustomed to seeing. "I won't be long."

Batman's visage was as severe and unyielding as ever, perhaps more so, as he pointedly added, "And J'onn. Be careful."

The Martian tipped his head in assent. "Understood."

Both occupants watched him glide through the door. When they were alone, Superman returned his attention to the brooding figure beside him. "Do you think he'll be able to successfully get in and out without being detected?"

Batman tried his hardest to ignore him. It didn't work. "I hope so."

He moved to exit the small room, but was stopped short by a strong hand to his shoulder. He knew it wouldn't have been that easy. "This isn't just about finding out what they've built there, is it?"

Eyes narrowed, he tilted his head to glare at him out of the corner of his eye. "So you're a psychic now, too, hm?"

Predictably, Clark didn't let up. "I heard about Tim."

Fury didn't begin to cover the boiling sensation that shot through his veins when he thought back on the notoriously_ un-_secretive speedster. Even as he chided himself for being surprised at any of this occurring, because he _knew _these people, he never the less vowed to make the loudmouthed idiot suffer before all of this was through. He tried to brush past the Kryptonian. "Tim is fine."

The hand on his shoulder kept him stationary. "You said that last time."

He grit his teeth. It always had to come back to _that_, didn't it? "This isn't 'last time', Kent."

Superman's eyes bored into him with a level of intensity and sincerity that he did not appreciate. "He's been through _enough_, Bruce. And so have you." There was a certain, faint grief in the perennially younger man's face that made him wonder if Kent's conscience unnecessarily bore the burden of Tim's disappearance, too. Soft-hearted fool; why would he blame himself for something he had nothing to do with? "I don't want to see either of you get hurt."

The words escaped his lips before he realized they were there. "Then you picked the wrong line of work." He brought a hand to the one pressing down on his shoulder and tugged.

It didn't budge.

For some reason, that almost pleased him. "You're not going anywhere," Clark ordered sternly. His scowl darkened in response. "I'm not going to just stand by and watch everything happen, this time. I'm helping you find him. Right this instant."

Bruce could've punched him. Instead, he inhaled deeply, ribs twinging in protest as they stretched. An obstinate Superman meant that, short of Kryptonite or magic, he was stuck in this room until he managed to appease him. Besides, he reminded himself, the farmboy meant well; his insistence on helping was..._touching_, if incredibly overbearing. It appeared that honesty, in this case, truly was the best policy, if it would help get Kent off his back. "Tim went undercover."

Clark blinked in shock; his grip loosened enough for Batman to successfully pry his hand off. "You sent – "

"_I _didn't do anything," he rebuked sharply. "He was already gone by the time I got there."

Clark's brows knit together. "Then how do you know he's undercover?"

"He left me clues." When he noted the way Superman's jaw clenched at the ambiguity, he smiled internally. Good. "Hopefully he'll find something important."

Kent's hand, rather annoyingly, found its way to his shoulder again. "He'll be alright, Bruce."

He cocked an eyebrow at his long-time friend, once again removing the errant hand that was giving far too much comfort for his tastes. "Did I ever say he wouldn't be?" Kent was just lucky he was what he was, otherwise the hand might have been bending in a direction it shouldn't have by the time he was done with it. He didn't need to be coddled. "Like I said, Clark – this _isn't _last time."

_"Hey, Bats,"_ Flash's voice rang out through the comm-link, "_I think I might've punched a hole in your little magic plague theory."_

"How so?"

_"Well, for starters, your plague isn't a plague."_

He frowned, glancing at Clark to see if he was also listening in. Judging by the confusion written all over his face, Batman supposed he was. He stalked to the door. "Show me."

* * *

Diana strolled down the darkened Gotham City street, feeling the chill of the bitterly cold February evening seep through the fur coat, but not being bothered by it. Her heart ached for the Waynes, and for their son – still, from such a horrid tragedy rose a champion, the likes of which humanity had never seen before. Had the Fates decided that the loss of two forthright people and the permanent scarring of an innocent child was the price to be paid for forging a weapon of justice? Who was responsible for such a decree? Themis? Nyx? Eris? Hades? Man's World was given a great defender, but at what cost? Any weapon, no matter how sharp, would eventually dull and, Hera forbid, break without the proper maintenance. Such maintenance was something Bruce desperately needed, and was stubbornly refusing from all avenues. That stubbornness was liable to get him killed before long.

Her mind wandered as she turned the corner. How could she make him see that she wanted to help him, no – how did the saying go? No strings attached? Protecting Man's World from harm was her main priority, and right now, that world needed Batman; ergo, that meant his health and safety was a priority, regardless of whatever their relationship was _(wasn't)_. It was her duty.

The lightness and warmth she felt whenever she saw him genuinely smile was irrelevant.

A car puttered down the road, lights blaring harshly in the darkness. Diana gave the vehicle a token glance as it neared, shielding her eyes from the blinding headlights as they engulfed her and everything around her. Hera, it felt like she was standing in a sauna! Blinking, she dropped her hand to her side...

...And realized she was back on the Watchtower.

Startled, she took in her surroundings – since when did the Watchtower have a nursery? – staring aimlessly through the porthole into the limitless, sparkling void of space. What was the significance of what Phantom Stranger showed her? Batman would never accept her story; he would only further close himself off to her, and everyone, if she brought it up. She absently toyed with the short gray fur fibers beneath her fingertips.

"Miss Diana," a cultured voice interrupted her train of thoughts, "I didn't expect to see you here."

She turned, rose red lips curving into a quiet smile. "Hello, Alfred."

He appraised her with a single glance, brow arching of its own accord. "That is quite a lovely overcoat; are you by chance thinking of a day trip to one of the poles, madam?"

Diana looked down at herself, only now remembering that she had a heavy winter jacket hanging from her impressive frame. She slipped it off of her shoulders, folding it neatly over a high-backed wooden chair that seemed completely out of place in the sterile metal space-station. "No," she answered at length, resting a hand on the plush, silky surface, "it was a gift from a friend."

Alfred nodded sagely. "Ah, I see. If I may, your friend has exquisite tastes; I haven't seen that particular style of clothing in..." He paused. "Well, in decades, I should say."

Her back muscles tightened. "It certainly is a rare find. I was honored to receive it."

"Might this gift have something to do with your sojourn with Phantom Stranger, miss?"

She blinked in surprise, turning to face him. "How did you – "

"Master Bruce had quite the discussion with him concerning you," he replied. "It appears as though your attempts to persuade him haven't gone unnoticed, after all. He sounded quite worried...for him, at least."

Her smile wavered and then vanished altogether. "Phantom Stranger said that Batman is key to saving Man's World from destruction."

"Master Bruce may be the key factor in solving this dilemma, madam, but he's hardly the only one," he said, expression unreadable.

She quashed the pang of guilt she felt, trying futilely to search his gaze for clues. This man could be as infuriating as his charge, at times; that was, in retrospect, probably where Bruce picked it up. Neither Thomas nor Martha were so deftly inscrutable and hard to pin down in a conversation. "You're right, I've got some catching up to do. Do you know where the others are?"

"I'm afraid not. I've been tending to young Rex here all evening," he answered, lifting a hand in the direction of the single occupied crib that stood ten feet to her right. He then motioned to the far wall. "Perhaps you can contact them via the communicator near the door?"

Diana frowned at the small off-colored panel. The topic on her mind was not one she wanted others listening in on. "No thanks, I'd rather talk to them in person." She nodded at the Englishman. "Take care, Alfred."

He returned the gesture. "And you, your Highness."

He watched her channel the powers granted to her from the Pantheon, flying through the pneumatic doors with grace and confidence. "Godspeed, dear." He carefully scooped up the forgotten fur coat and folded it over his arm, running a hand over the surface to smooth out any errant wrinkles in the underlying fabric. As he did so, he heard something strike the ground with a soft, hollow _tink_. Gaping down, he found a small, golden object glinting against the dull metal floor. Curiously, he plucked it from the ground and let it lay in his palm, observing its illustrious gleam. "A ring? How peculiar."

* * *

Barbara Gordon sat, straight-backed in her plush leather chair, teeth clenched so tightly together that she could hear the rush of blood in her ears from the pressure. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard that hung suspended over her thighs, fingers poised to unleash a fury that she hadn't felt in...probably forever, but unsure of what to actually use that rage on.

She had only squeezed her way into the Justice League intranet to talk to Bruce about her findings, since he'd summarily shut down all other avenues of contacting him she normally relied on. When she'd stumbled over a patient that was admitted into the Watchtower's upper echelon med-bay sometime yesterday, her curiosity – one of her dominant traits – got the better of her. Having deep knowledge of Batman's inner workings, she knew that the patient had to have been someone important to the League. She never realized it would have been someone important to _him_. Or to her. _(Even if she'd closed the door on that path, even if she'd chosen the father over the son, and the Mission over the Life, only to wind up losing both. None of that mattered.)_

Her monitor was jammed with every scrap of information she could get from the Watchtower database on Dick; vitals, blood tests, tox screens, everything. Looking at what was in front of her, it was clear that he was going downhill fast, in spite of his valiant efforts to fight it off. The image of him half-clothed, unconscious, and torso speckled with dark, disgusting splotches that was slowly, inexorably, winding up his body and leaving only death in its wake, was something that caused her lightning-paced mind all but grind to a halt.

And Bruce would have never told her. She didn't know why she was surprised – this was hardly anything new for him.

Really, she hadn't been actively seeking a romantic relationship with him, and any silly fantasies she might have had regarding it were just that – fantasies. Silly. But she didn't resist when he interpreted her attempts to comfort him, broken and lost in the depths of the Cave mere weeks after Tim's return, as an advance. She didn't complain when he clung to her, whispering nonsense into her skin during one of his many nightmares. She waited, so patiently, for him to open up to her on his own terms, to trust her with himself. All she'd ever wanted out of their relationship, whatever its status, was for him to know, understand, and accept that she could help him carry his burdens.

Instead, she got two bullets in her spine and a strained relationship with her father.

A nearby terminal beeped, data slipping along the flat screen. Barbara frowned, and with a last, forlorn glance at Dick's failing condition, flicked the visual off. This was bigger than him – maybe bigger than _everyone_.

* * *

One of the nice things about being Superman was that he could go for much longer without food or sleep before negative effects started to become apparent. Theoretically, the power from the yellow sun on his Kryptonian physiology was more than enough to keep him up for weeks, while the average human only lasted a few days.

Theory was great, until reality fairly trounced upon it.

Clark resisted the urge to rub at his eyes while he, Bruce, Wally, and John stood crowded around a monitor. On it was displayed an animation of a human cell being infected by the Leopard Fever strain, the globule shriveling up like a raisin as it blackened and died. It chilled Superman, watching the animation loop endlessly, with that knowledge that people were _dying _to this. All of his strength, all of his abilities, and what good was it doing the world now? Nothing.

He pressed his fingertips against his closed eyelids. _'No going down that road, Clark,'_ he told himself. _'You know it won't do any good.'_

He glanced around the room, frowning. "Where's Diana?"

"With Phantom Stranger, attempting to get answers. She'll contact us when she returns," Batman replied automatically. Instantly, he switched gears, shifting his attention to the Flash. "What did you find?"

The Speedster tapped at the console once. "This." Globs of color began to overlay the video as it played. "The reason we've had so much trouble figuring out what it's doing to people is because we've been treating it like an infectious disease."

"Isn't that what it is?" Superman asked.

Wally shook his head. "Infectious? Yeah. Disease? Not so much. See here – " he pointed at the screen, " – the way the cell's energy signature stays the same until the very end? Dying cells don't do that. They're actually being mutated into something that the body can't recognize, and since the immune system doesn't know what it is – "

"It attacks," John supplied.

"You got it."

Batman frowned in thought. "What are the cells being mutated into?"

Flash shrugged, returning his hand to his hip. "Don't know. Everything about them seems pretty much the same, except it's..."

"Dormant." Bruce stepped forward, glaring at the monitor as though he were interrogating it. For all Clark knew, maybe he was – and knowing him, he could probably get answers out if it, too. "So it's reversible, then."

"Probably, if we can extract that mojo from your little guinea pig's blood," Flash agreed with a tilt of his lips. "What I'm worried about is the whole process – you don't see human cells sponge up energy like that and then just have it disappear into nothing. There are universal laws against that kinda stuff." He caught Batman stiffening out of the corner of his eye. "I mean, sure, magic breaks universal laws all the time, but – "

"What did you just say?"

Flash blinked. "Magic breaks universal laws?"

"Sponge." Flash blinked again. Bruce scowled for a half-second. "Here." He stepped to the terminal, creating a virtual mockup of Nightwing's body; self-updating bio-signs written in each corner. "The human body is capable of outputting anywhere from eighty to over sixteen-hundred watts of energy, depending on what they're doing at the time. Scientists have been trying unsuccessfully for years to harness it."

"And you think Spooky's magic plague is doing that?"

A gloved finger aimed itself at the screen as another color overlay blanketed the 3D image. Most of the hero's extremities had turned a darkened blue, while his torso and upper legs were a wild, dangerous red. "Take a look for yourself. Nightwing's central nervous system is working overtime trying to combat the disease. Meanwhile, the affected cells are soaking up all those electrical impulses – "

"Like a sponge," Superman finished, comprehending the Dark Knight's earlier moment of insight.

John frowned, expression stony. "You're telling me he's infecting people to use them as _batteries_? That doesn't make any sense."

The console beeped suddenly, a small, red light flashing in warning of an unauthorized transmission. Clark straightened, on alert _(and thanking his lucky stars that the Binary Fusion Generator had been dismantled)_, while John and Bruce rushed to the computer, trying to pinpoint and shut down the frequency. Both were amazed to find the controls unresponsive. "I'm locked out," Batman growled.

_"Sorry, I wanted to make sure you wouldn't boot me out before I introduced myself."_

Superman, for lack of anything else to look at, stared upwards at the steel-tiled ceiling. "Who is this?"

_"I'm a friend of a friend,"_ the voice, clearly altered to a low, warbling tenor, answered with a nearly playful lilt. _"Don't worry, I'm here to help."_

Lantern huffed. "Pardon me if I don't take your word for it."

_"Sounds like Batman's rubbed off on you," _he chuckled over the line.

"Who is this?" Batman repeated the question tightly.

There was a beat of silence. _ "Call me...the Oracle."_

The four exchanged glances. Whoever this was obviously had the skills to shut them down completely, but chose instead to offer assistance. Clark would take them at their word – for now, at least. It wasn't like they had much choice, anyway. He again spoke up, "You said you're here to help, Oracle?"

_"I've found something you guys may need,"_ he replied. _"Batman is on the right track; electromagnetic interference has skyrocketed worldwide since the first outbreak of Leopard Fever. And it gets worse – geologists are reporting unusual readings at several major tectonic fault lines." _ Without anyone's command, the screen flickered and was replaced with a computer-generated Earth, highlighted with colors to show varying levels of activity. _"You're looking at all seismic and geothermal activity in the past forty-eight hours. Notice a pattern in their location?"_

Batman's eyes narrowed. "Every known Lazarus Pit is a hotspot."

John studied the display, leaning on his fists against the computer array. "There must be _hundreds _of those things around the world, then."

Flash shrugged at the voice. "So, what, Ra's is building another run-of-the mill doomsday device with an extra side of disease?"

"Ra's isn't out for conquest or annihilation – he wants to return the world to a pre-humanized, pre-industrialized state," Batman explained. "He'll want to do as little permanent damage to the landscape as possible."

John's faintly glowing green eyes darted in Bruce's direction. "He might wanna reread the manual, then, because what he's doing could turn the entire world into one gigantic lava field."

Superman hummed, musing, "Maybe that's what he wants." The others turned to him expectantly. "Well, think about it – just because a forest burns down doesn't mean that it's now dead land. In fact, ashes can actually be very potent, fertile ground for regrowth."

John and Wally gawked at him. Bruce's eyebrow arched beneath his protective cowl. He rolled his shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, feeling a bit sheepish for the attention. "I used to go camping a lot as a kid. You learn things."

Flash raised his hands in the shape of a T. "Uh, small problem there, Supes – if Ra's turns Earth into Lavaland, that means he's gonna get smoked along with the rest of us. That doesn't sound like the M.O. of a guy with a royal flush up his sleeve. He's gonna want to live to see it all go down."

_"This may be of interest, then,"_ Oracle commented, the Earth display zooming in to aa archipelago of islands along the south Pacific. _"According to Philippine mythology, the Agimat can grant the wearer superhuman strength, telekinesis, clairvoyance, control over the elements, and sometimes, out-and-out invincibility. Ordinarily, they're just seen as good luck charms, and can be crafted by shaman and town elders, but _this_ particular piece –_ " the display shrunk to the far corner, the majority of the screen being replaced by a golden necklace with a small, red pendant dangling from the thick chain, _" – is said to have belonged to a nameless Philippine hero who, according to legend, single-handedly stopped an erupting volcano sometime in the late tenth century, saving all the nearby villages. It's considered a national treasure."_

John grimaced. "Looks like something you get out of a crackerjack box."

"So does your ring," Flash jibed with a lopsided smirk. He held his hands up in defense at the glower he received. "What? It does."

"If the pendant is a national treasure," Batman said, arms folding over his chest, "then it should be in Quezon City's Metropolitan History Museum."

_"It was,"_ Oracle corrected,_"but it was recently put on a display tour last month that rounds all of eastern Asia. Its last stop was Hong Kong, right before the Leopard Fever outbreak forced the tour to stop."_

"Where was the Agimat being housed?"

_"Chen Republic Holdings."_

Superman's head snapped up. "That was the bank Firefly and Volcana were breaking into when Wonder Woman and I showed up. Could that have been what they were after?"

He could feel the glower against his right temple. "You didn't question them?"

"Their motives seemed pretty straight-forward," he answered.

"_Most _crimes seem pretty straight-forward until you examine them," Bruce shot back, clearly annoyed at what was, to him, a grievous oversight.

His own irritation rose to the occasion. Clark normally didn't mind being put on the spot, but Batman had the uncanny ability to make anyone he rebuked look like a toddler trying to drive a car. It got old, fast. "We stopped the robbery, and all the stolen property they tried to make off with was returned."

John folded his arms over his chest. "Sounds like a distraction to me."

Flash added, "Anyone wanna take bets on who they were working for?"

Batman turned to the door. "I'll find out Ra's wanted with them."

_"You won't get much out of them,"_ Oracle interrupted. _"After they were apprehended, Chinese officials placed them in a high-security quarantine."_

Batman halted, and then pivoted back toward the console. "Let me guess. They've been infected."

_"More than that."_ The screen fizzled once again and was remapped with a grainy, grisly feed of the two villains strapped to beds side by side, their bodies writhing in agony as sickly lines of black twined across their torsos and up their necks. _"If the normal body is a battery, then these two are industrial generators."_

The room went silent momentarily as the images played out before them. Superman's blood ran cold as the realization dawned on him – even with protective Hazmat suits, their fire powers were more than enough to melt it from their impervious skins. "Ra's knew that someone from the Justice League would be sent in to take them down," he said, voice hushed. "He was trying to infect all of us."

"Pretty straight-forward," Bruce commented acerbically. Clark shot a glare in his direction that was pointedly and summarily ignored.

Green Lantern stared at the slate gray ceiling. "Can you access Juragua's systems? We need to find out what that lunatic is doing."

_"The reactor is still offline, and the Cubans are completely clueless,"_ Oracle responded apologetically. _"There's nothing I can do from here."_

Batman's scowl darkened that much more. "_You_ can't, but I know someone who _can_."

* * *

Diana fitted the new comm-link in her right ear, dialing it through to its proper frequency out of rote while briefly wondering where – or when – her previous one ended up during her foray into a 1950's Gotham. She appeared to have only been gone for a few hours, but given how quickly the situation appeared to be escalating, that didn't offer her much comfort. She needed to find out what she missed immediately. "Wonder Woman to Batman."

_"Welcome back,"_ he answered gruffly, voice as sure as a rock – and about as _enthusiastic_ as one, too. _"Meet me in examination room two – and make sure you have your lasso with you." _ The link was abruptly severed with a hollow _tweet_.

Diana stifled a sigh. What, exactly, did Alfred consider 'worry'?

* * *

Batman saw Wonder Woman walk down the deserted hallway preceding the interrogation rooms from the corner of his eye. He angled his head toward her, hiding both his momentary relief that she was unharmed, and his annoyance that she was once again prying into his business – and was even enlisting the aid of a paranormal entity to do so, at that. She didn't know when to quit.

He dismissively noted the irony. "Princess."

Her face ticked, as if in grief. That didn't bode well. "I need to speak with you."

"It can wait."

"For now."

"For however long it needs to." With luck, that meant never.

She smiled faintly, as if he were capable of saying something funny. Especially now. That boded even worse. "You're as stubborn as a mule."

"So I've heard." He nodded to the steel hatch labeled 'Examination Room 2', striding forward. "Follow my lead."

* * *

The examination room's doors slid open with a quiet hiss. Nyssa gasped quietly as her eyes befell the Batman, in all his glory. She had been part of his mind for so long that it felt rather odd to see him from the outside, looking in, but doing so provided her a perspective she'd never had before. He was...impressive; strong, confident, infinitely dangerous. Breathtaking. He was every bit the perfect specimen that her mother and grandfather seemed to appreciate him for, but she knew much more than them. She saw what they never would, she understood his mindset far beyond those around him, and that knowledge provided her a security and strength she cherished deep within her heart.

And no one would _dare _take that from her.

Behind him stood a woman, also of impressive stature, but she was easily ignored in favor of the man she knew so well. His gaze trained on her, firm, but not cold. "I need your help."

Her breath caught in her throat. She felt humbled. "Anything."

He stood in front of her, cape shrouded over his form. "I need you to find out what your grandfather is planning."

She blinked, aqua orbs confused. "Isn't that what your friend is attempting to do now?"

If her response phased him, he didn't show it. But then, he was exceptional at that. "Never put all your eggs in one basket."

She cocked her head to the side. "You believe he will fail."

"I believe in contingencies."

"You believe _everything _will fail, given time," she pressed, lips quirked upward. "Don't you?"

"There are billions of lives at stake," he said, undeterred by her _(admittedly paltry) _attempts to throw him off balance. Marvelous; he truly was a master at this game. "We need to know what he's doing."

Nyssa paused in thought. During her silence, Mother decided that her opinion was warranted. "My daughter has offered you everything she knows. Let her rest, beloved. Please."

Batman may have been a master at hiding his emotions, but the woman behind was not, her dark blue eyes glinting like sapphires at Mother. She recognized her, now – she was the one that caused him no end of grief from her embarrassing attachment to him. Did she truly believe she laid claim to him? How adorable. "We'll offer it as soon as we can," she assured, alto carefully devoid of offense. "However, we're short on time, and the risk your father poses to Man's World is great. We'll need your daughter's help to defeat him."

Batman pressed his gloved hands against the stainless steel table, lenses fixated on her intently. She did not squirm. "Could you locate him?"

Her abilities were large, unwieldy things, but this close, she could feel so much from him – he hid behind his cloak and mask, but all was open to her. The combined weight of humanity pressed down against him, slowly squeezing the spirit from his immaculate physique like juice from an orange. He was becoming frustrated; desperate. That wouldn't do. "I will try."

He nodded and fell silent, limbs withdrawing back into the safety of his weighted cape. The Martian's prowess was something she wish she possessed. His mastery over it, the ease with which he could enter and exit a person's mind at will, sparked an intense envy within her. His abilities supplemented hers – steadied them in a way she had always dreamed of achieving. Cadmus, for all their money and technology, only offered hollow promises and weak advances – they were piddling. Impotent. Perhaps, with time, she would be able to wrangle a similar level of control on her own, but for the moment, she was content with her current state.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the spinning globe miles below them. She called upon her abilities, and then upon the anchor that secured her amongst the maelstrom, and reached out. The minds of human civilization were as loud and chaotic as she remembered, each one shrieking in their own unique wail of dissatisfaction, each vying for power, wealth, and superiority over their fellow man. The disgusting taint of their own selfishness threatened to drown her, whorls of color and light twisting around her like serpents ready to crush the life from her.

Holding her breath, she plunged deeper into the torrent, struggling blindly among the swirling muck of human depravity and indifference to find the essence that, for all its noble intents, only succeeding in embodying all it strove to destroy. Her power, enhanced by the Martian, touched against something familiar, that which Mother's beloved – _her _beloved – sought, and she curled tendrils of her will around it and squeezed.

Nyssa felt but a flash of idle amusement from the other end, Grandfather softly chuckling, _'Silly child,'_ before her world went black completely.

**_To be continued..._**


	20. 20 Book of Revelations

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Special Agent King Faraday gulped down another mouthful of lukewarm coffee, grimacing at the taste as it sluiced over his tongue. He really should've made another pot before sitting down with these reports, but with the hell that broke loose in Gotham, that really wasn't an option. Papers were strewn over his office desk, lit by the cheaply-made tin lamp that hung, slouched, over the haphazard pile. He'd already been debriefed by the President – the League said the Leopard Fever was being purposely disseminated, but had no leads on how they were transporting it, or where they would strike next. That's where he came in.

He sat back in his chair, rubbing his hands down his face wearily while sighing. Instead of remaining at bureau headquarters, which was currently rife with all kinds of jurisdictional toe-stepping, he'd gone back to his place in D.C. to do more research, free of military interference...for all the good it was doing him. It was past 4 AM, he wasn't a single step closer to finding a pattern in any of the outbreak locations, and he was quickly running out of time; he'd seen Waller's request for nuclear ordinance when it came down the horn. The woman was out of her gourd if she thought that he'd ever let anyone detonate a nuke on American soil –

A nearby door clicked shut. He didn't invite anyone else over.

King unholsted his government-issue Colt .45, finger on the trigger. He slipped around his desk, silent, as he easily guided himself through his darkened home. He'd lived in this place for going on sixteen years; he knew every square inch of this place like the back of his hand. No one was going to sneak up on him on his own turf. He halted at his study door, inspecting the light that poured through the cracks with a frown. The townhouse was technically three bedrooms, but he'd converted one into his office, and the other into what amounted to a mini-library, stacked with filing cabinets full of information and reports. He made a point of adding a deadbolt to the door on the off chance that someone was stupid enough to break into the home of a federal agent. He was going to have a talk with the locksmith who installed it tomorrow morning.

He inhaled quietly, steadied his gun hand, and kicked the door open. "Freeze – !" He stopped mid-exclamation, mouth open, once he realized who he had in his sights.

Waller appeared at ease with a semi-automatic pistol being aimed directly at her. "Hello, Agent Faraday. I think it's time we caught up."

**20.  
Book of Revelations  
**

In spite of his long and storied career in espionage, King Faraday was never really one for the cloak and dagger bullshit. He did it only because it was a good paycheck; that, and he happened to be exceptional at it. But the bloodthirstiness of it all – the constant backstabbing and betrayal – was a bit too much for him to actively enjoy. Amanda Waller, on the other hand, seemed to live off of it. It was part of the reason why they didn't really get along.

He dropped his gun to his side with a grunt of annoyance. "That's what phones are for. And doorbells." He glanced around the room, which, at a cursory glance, seemed completely untouched. "How did you get in here, anyway?"

She motioned to the window with her head. "Deadbolts don't do much good if you have a window that's so easily jimmied."

He added, _'Electrify windows,'_to his home-improvement list. "So, what brings you around here? I thought you were meeting with the Joint Chiefs."

She scanned the room briefly. "I ran into some...complications. I thought it would be prudent to get a second opinion before coming to any final decisions."

He rose an eyebrow. She wanted _his _help? "This 'complication' – it was so important that you had to break into my house?"

"I didn't want to risk being followed."

He shifted his weight to one leg. "You think you wouldn't be followed here?"

"You're not the only one who can get out of tight situations." She reached behind her, under her blue overcoat, and slipped out a fairly large manilla folder. "As for what's so important..." She held it out for him. "See for yourself."

The special agent began to inspect the folder, whistling quietly at the amount of information contained within it. "Where did you get all this?"

"That's one the complications," she replied ambiguously. "I received this from General Eiling."

His head snapped up. "_Eiling_? I thought he was still considered AWOL."

"I thought so, too, and that's why I'm here." She tapped a finger against the dull black metal that comprised one of his filing cabinets. "He was able to trace my cell phone and contact me using General Flagg's number as a cover. He says that the Joint Chiefs have brought him back into the fold."

"Then the Joint Chiefs are keeping me and everyone else in the dark, because I've never heard anything about it." Faraday's frown darkened, reading the documents cross-referencing Batman and Society movement. "Who authorized these reports?"

"That's another complication." Her dark face was unreadable, but he detected an undercurrent of anger. He'd worked with Waller some during the Cadmus years; if he knew nothing else of her, it was that she _hated_ being played. Sometimes, it was just the nature of the job, and he took it in stride – do your duty, no questions asked, no holds barred – but Waller? She always took it personally when someone used her without her realizing it. He guessed it was a pride issue; the woman certainly wasn't short on it. She grabbed the portfolio, pointing to a few of the dates. "Some of this League intel is over ten years old, and if we'd had it _then_, there wouldn't _be_a League right now."

He followed her finger, confirming her words for himself. "So, either someone high up in the government didn't want us with this – "

"Or Eiling got this information from an outside source," Waller finished grimly, smartly closing the folder.

If his hair weren't already white, he would have sworn he felt it going gray on him. _This_ was why he hated the cloak and dagger bullshit, right here. "If he didn't get it from us, where _did _he get it from?"

Waller smiled thinly, pressing the documents against his chest. "That's where you come in."

He swallowed a sigh. That phrase never meant good things.

* * *

Nyssa was a troubled young woman.

Jonn's connection with her was strong and secure; it was just the kind of tether a desperate young telepath would likely require to retain whatever sanity she had left. Unfortunately, it was strong enough that he had nearly full access to her psyche, and what he saw there was the mental equivalent of abattoir. Whatever innocence that was housed within her diminutive form had been all but obliterated by the thousands of minds that she spent her entire life being forced to endure – many of them being murderers and psychopaths employed by her grandfather. But hope wasn't entirely lost; he sensed a small bastion of humanity, a shred of herself that longed for normalcy and struggled to stay alive in the midst of the insanity that threatened to overwhelm her.

Batman called her dangerous. If he only knew just how responsible he was for her survival.

J'onn landed among a small thicket of trees within sight distance of the Juragua complex. Peering around the trunk, he watched the uniformed guards standing at attention along the gates, armed with automatic weapons. They appeared to be the Cuban military, but he of all people knew that looks could be deceiving. He scanned the two men guarding the gate, learning quickly that they were being paid handsomely by the 'workforce' to ask no questions and falsify whatever documents were required of them. They had no knowledge of what was going on beneath the grounds of their new reactor, and didn't care to know, so long as the money kept flowing.

Having seen enough, he withdrew from their small minds, shifting into a contractor that they saw often and knew not to bother. His now burly form marched up the dirt path as though he owned it, stopping at the ten-foot tall electrified fence that ran around the reactor grounds. As he suspected, the two men made no attempt to verify his identity, and motioned with their arm to the nearby tower to let him through. Once the gates creaked back on mechanized hinges, the two guards saluted. "Welcome back, Supervisor Ubu."

He grunted in reply, continuing along the trail to the complex proper, massive steel tubes and a myriad of coolant pipes climbing up into the rafters like a man-made network of vines. He noted rust patterns hidden under a fresh coat of paint among much of the machinery, along with water stains on the cement walls; it was clear that Ra's Al Ghul did not consider the reactor's longevity a priority, only its short-term functionality. On top of what else he was planning, using a facility of such poor condition led to another problem – even without live uranium in its stores, a meltdown could pose a grave threat to all of Cuba. The League would have to ensure that they had teams on standby to evacuate as much of the island as they could, should that come to pass.

A man garbed in black was posted at the end of the hallway. The officer stepped aside, saluting as the elevator doors opened. "The Master is expecting you."

_'Is he now?' _He nodded curtly, stepping inside.

* * *

Private Rodrigo Famosa broke attention to glance over his shoulder at the path the supervisor walked down moments before. "I wonder what they're doing in there?"

"Who cares?" Sergeant Diego Sanchez replied. "They do their thing, we go home with heavy pockets. Everybody wins."

"Yes, but what if they're spies?"

"What if we ignore it, like we're supposed to?" Sanchez snapped.

Famosa dropped his rifle to his waist, looking at his superior full on. "I'm not so sure about this, Sergeant – have you noticed that people in the nearby villages are starting to fall ill? What if us turning a blind eye is causing that?"

Sanchez muttered an exasperated, "_Jesucristo_," then added, "just leave it be; we're not supposed to ask questions, remember? It's not any of our business who goes in or..." The soldier trailed off as his eyes locked onto a familiar figure stalking across the well-beaten path toward them.

The very same figure they'd _already let into the complex_.

Famosa tossed a look in his direction, tanned features going pale. "Is it any of our business now?"

"Shut up, Famosa." He stepped forward, stopping the well-muscled man in his tracks. "My apologies, Supervisor Ubu, but – "

Ubu glared at the man as though he were a leper. "What is the meaning of this, dog? May I remind you, you are being paid handsomely for your cooperation!"

"I know, sir, but...well, you just came _through_ here – " The soldier was lifted up by his uniform collar with a strangled _'hkk'_.

"What?" Ubu barked in his face. "You let an imposter into the compound?"

Sanchez's rifle clattered to the ground as he grabbed the supervisor's hand. "He...looked exactly like you – "

Disgusted, Ubu threw the smaller man to the dirt. "Imbecile!" He whirled upon Famosa, dark eyes ablaze. "Alert reactor security!"

* * *

The elevator stuttered violently to a halt, its light flickering from the change in velocity. J'onn, in the guise of Ubu, stumbled forward, catching himself against the wall. He barely had time to look upward before the cage rattled a second time, once again descending toward the bowels of the hidden facility. That was distressing. Straightening, his disguise vanishing, he calmly stood while the elevator arrived at its destination with a prolonged creaking of hinges and metal grinding against metal.

The half dozen armed guards awaiting at the entrance, alerted by one very irate Master Ubu of an intruder entering their sanctum, were greeted by an empty carriage.

Cautiously, the center soldier crept forward, the other five following suit in a V-formation behind him; muscles whip-tight and eagerly anticipating a conflict. Their examination of the elevator confirmed that there was no one inside, no one waiting above, nor was there any trap waiting for them. The leader, relaxing slightly, turned to his five compatriots who waited just outside the elevator entrance. "It appears to have been a ruse – "

Green hands shot out from the wall behind him.

By the time the remaining soldiers took stock that their leader was now an unmoving heap on the floor, his head having left a dent in the steel he'd been slammed against, the mysterious hands had already melted back into the surroundings. Their testing to be counted among the ranks of the Society was brutal, and their trials were numerous – but they'd never been faced with something that could emerge and disappear like a spectre. This was something beyond them. But they would not falter, forming a tense outward circuit, weapons primed to unleash carnage upon whoever was foolish enough to defy the Master and strike against one of their own. Their collective breathing was shallow enough that they could have heard a pin drop from a hundred yards away. Their hearing was acute enough to catch the heartbeats of rodents crawling inside the elevator shaft for several floors.

None of them heard the Martian Manhunter rise from the ground beneath them into the middle of their protective circle. Four of them would have no memory of what happened; the fifth would only see a blur of green flying toward his face before he was enveloped by darkness.

Frowning, J'onn looked down at the pile of unconscious soldiers that were littered around his feet. So much for getting in and out undetected. He moved to step forward when the crackling reverberation of a psychic attack on Nyssa traveled the length of their connection. Blindly, he grasped for a nearby wall, his other hand pressed against his head, as he struggled to see through the curtain of stars and make his way to a safer place. There were more coming, he couldn't afford to –

Ordinarily, it would take voltage several times the lethal capacity for a human to faze him, let alone incapacitate him. This time, it took only one well placed shot with a high-powered taser-rifle to force him to the ground. He peered up blearily to spot Ubu towering over him, smug. "The Master wishes to speak with you, infidel."

Well. Far be it for him to disappoint the Master.

* * *

Jim Gordon stood under the dim yellow haze of a streetlamp, taking in the sights while he waited in the brisk October evening. Gotham Park was still dangerous at this time of night, especially alone, but this particular section was considered off limits by most gangs and organized crime – it was one of the Bat's favorite hunting grounds. He supposed that was why Batman chose this place for a meeting.

His breath came out in tiny white puffs, making him yearn for a cigarette. He'd been smoking since he was seventeen, why did Sarah think that quitting now would suddenly make him any healthier? Given the type of whackjobs and sickos he went up against every single day, cancer wasn't really on his list of priorities. But, if it made her happy...he coughed into his fist, lungs agitated by the cold air. He pushed the sleeve of his brown leather trench back, reading his watch. _3:17_. He was late. That wasn't like him.

"Jim."

As always, he jumped, fighting back the scowl of irritation at continually being sneaked up on. He turned, half smile on his lips. "Nice night for a stroll in the park?"

His mood darkened when his eyes fell upon the haggard figure that slunk from the shadows, still commanding, still fearsome, but clearly battered. "I need your help."

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets for lack of anything else to do with them, unsurprised by the request. It had been nearly a month since they'd last met, so obviously whatever got his attention was a doozy. "With what?"

Batman was ramrod straight, stiff, even for him. "I've come to turn myself in."

If he had been drinking coffee, he would have spat it out in a rush. As it was, he yanked his hands back out in disbelief. "What? Why?"

Batman began to slowly walk forward; Jim noticed the limp he was trying to hide. He stopped just outside the yellowed ring of light, voice like flint. "Because I killed the Joker."

His eyes went wide, jaw slack. His mind refused to comprehend the words, the idea that he could – he just _wouldn't_. "What happened?" Jim found himself asking.

"He kidnapped Robin," he explained, gaze averted to the treeline. Batman didn't purposely avoid eye contact. "When I saw what the Joker had done, I..." He inhaled, squaring his shoulders without an ounce of pride to be seen. "It's over, Jim. You have to take me in." He reached for his mask.

Gordon didn't believe it. Not for one second. He stepped closer, noting how the shadow seemed to be fighting the urge to back away. Batman never got spooked, and Batman never killed. _Never_. He stopped his friend's hand. "Don't."

Batman appeared puzzled, fingers still curled under the edges of his cowl. "You need to do Miranda. You need my name."

"Miranda's only for people getting arrested," he answered, grip still firm on Batman's forearm, "and I already have your name."

Batman gaped at him in open shock. The look – comical on anyone, but especially on the Dark Knight – was enough to make him crack a small, fleeting grin, hidden beneath his mustache. "What, you think you're the only detective in Gotham?"

Batman blinked, hand slowly falling back beneath the safety of his cape. "Why didn't you...?"

"Because I knew you were here to help." He regarded the man evenly, eyes boring into his with the strength of a thirty year police veteran. "Now, do you wanna tell me what _really _happened?"

"I just did."

If he knew the situation weren't so dire, Jim would've felt insulted. As it was, he was annoyed; covering up a crime for someone else never did anyone any good. He pretended not to notice the hypocrisy. "Well, I don't buy it – I know you better than that."

Batman's eyes narrowed briefly. "You think I'm lying?"

"I think you know who really killed him, and you're trying to fall on the sword to protect them." Batman made no attempt to respond, expression as stony as he had ever seen it – which, to Gordon, meant he'd hit the bullseye. That complicated things. Batman could hold out forever, take any punishment given, if he thought it meant someone else was being kept safe. Jim's only chance was to appeal to that directly. "I promise, I'll do everything I can to help you, but you've gotta help _me _first. I need to know what happened." He motioned with his free hand toward the nearby park bench behind them. "All of it."

He honestly didn't expect him to listen. But to his amazement, Batman complied, silently trudging to the bench and sitting; shoulders slumped and head bowed. By the time he was finished recounting the events of the past three weeks, he wasn't the Dark Knight Detective, anymore; just a man who had found their child tortured and subjected to horrors beyond their comprehension or ability to withstand. If their positions had been reversed, and the Joker had taken Barbara instead... Jim gained a newfound respect for him. "How's he doing now?"

"Sedated," he answered, voice flat and becoming hoarse. "Leslie is going to try and ascertain the extent of the trauma, and figure out what we need to do from there." He glanced up at that, lenses blazing in a sudden intensity that was usually reserved for the worst criminals on the market. "He is _not _going to Arkham."

He placed his right hand on Batman's shoulder. It was trembling. "He won't. I'll make sure of it." He straightened his own shoulders, trying to infuse as much assurance into his words as he could muster at 3:30 in the morning. "I'll take care of things on my end. You worry about taking care of the kid."

Batman's burst of anger dissipated quickly, craning his neck up to stare fully at him; he looked for all the world like a kicked puppy as he asked, "You mean, you're not going to arrest me?"

Jim's heart twisted in his chest. "It sounds to me like the Joker was killed in self defense. It's not against the law to stay alive." He could tell Batman wanted to argue the point, because even as his life fell apart around him, he was still concerned with compromising Jim's work ethic as little as possible. Jim shifted gears, studying him for another heartbeat. Two grown men were not naturally disposed to talking about feelings; definitely not a hardened cop and an even more hardened vigilante. But he heard the defeat, so unnatural coming from a man like him, in his voice. Now was not the time for stubbornness and pride. "And how are _you _doing?"

The light in his eyes went out abruptly, and for a moment, Gordon wondered if the man was going to cry. He hoped the flash of horror he felt at the thought of it didn't show on his face; after the hell Batman had been put through, he of all people had earned the right to break down. He almost wished the Joker wasn't dead, just so he could kill that diseased maniac himself. Almost. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts of retribution that he nearly missed Batman's quiet confession. "...It was my fault."

Oh no. Not this. He knelt in front of the figure who sat hunched like an old man, his joints aching in protest – _'You're too old for this, Gordon'_ – as he tried to offer comfort. "No, it was _not_."

"He targeted Tim to get to _me_," Bruce lamented, baritone hollow and tortured. "If I hadn't – "

"Then he would've gone after someone else, and no one would've been able to stop him," he retorted, tone brooking no argument. "Listen, son, I don't know what you've told yourself, or why you believed it, but as far as I'm concerned, you saved that boy's _life_ tonight." He gave the man one of his toughest glares, hoping it would give him an anchor point to steady himself on. "Now you're gonna go back home, you're gonna get him back on his feet, and you're gonna make sure he's taken care of, because he's a good kid, and you're a good man. And _neither _of you deserved this. Don't you dare let that bastard win, do you understand me?" He squeezed his friend's shoulders tightly. "Don't let him win."

Batman stared at him blankly, eyes dull even through the lenses, before nodding once mutely.

He nodded in return, hands relaxing. "Good." Forcing back the grunt of pain, he pushed himself to his feet, wiping at his knees absently. "Now, come on, there's work to do." He didn't wait to see if Batman picked himself back up, because he knew he would. He didn't notice his hands were shaking until he tucked them safely back into his coat pockets, fingers instinctively reaching for the cigarette pack that wasn't there. "I'll get to work on the report, let me know if you..." He turned, and saw he was alone. _'Well, isn't that something?'_ he thought bitterly. At least that much hadn't been affected by tragedy. "Need anything else."

Shaking his head, he sucked in a breath, the chilly air tickling at his lungs, and slowly let it out. He supposed he should head back to the office, again. He made it halfway to his car before he was interrupted by the jingling of his cell phone. Great, now what? "Gordon here."

_"Thank you, Jim. For everything."_The phone line went dead as abruptly as it lit up.

Jim stared at the device in his hand as he gently flipped it closed, the slightest measure of a grin touching his thin lips. _'Well, isn't that something?'_

A phone rang again. Curiously, he looked down at the inert cell in his hand, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. "Where in the world...?"

Jim Gordon opened his eyes, blearily focusing on the blue-hued stalactites that hung imposingly from the ceiling over a hundred feet above. It took three seconds and a casual rub of his palm down his face before he remembered exactly where he was and why. Then the 'phone' rang again, coming from the massive supercomputer that was built into the cavern wall in the other room. _ 'Doesn't having a phone defeat the purpose of solitude?' _Jim wondered while he tossed his legs over the side of the couch and plodded through the narrow, winding hallway to the main hall.

The sophisticated computer array was lit up, painfully bright compared to the darkness he'd come from moments before; one key in particular flashing in a simple but never the less aggravating pattern. Running his hand across his face – he hoped there was a razor in this place – he debated whether or not to let the message go; after all, Batman wanted him to keep his head down in case of another attempt on his life. Then he remembered he was in the Fortress of Solitude. He pressed the button.

The screen remained dark, but the voice was anything but. _"Hi, Dad."_

He blinked. "Barbara? I didn't know you had Superman's private line."

_"I don't,"_ she replied, almost apologetic, _"well, I didn't until just now."_

"Did Batman tell you I was here?"

_"No, but he told me that he had you in a safe place, and I didn't find you anywhere on the Watchtower..." _ Silence for a beat. _"I know you don't wanting me asking you this, but I need you to talk to Bruce."_

She was right, he didn't want her asking that. Barbara seemed to think that just because he didn't immediately and emphatically side with her after Bruce ended his relationship with her, Jim was on excellent terms with him, when he could have killed the man for breaking his daughter's heart so thoroughly. The _reason_ he didn't immediately and emphatically side with her was because he knew that it took two to tango, and with all the time she spent around Batman, she had to have known what she was getting into – or, at least, she _should _have.

The truth of the matter was, their entire situation was a train wreck waiting to happen from the moment he caught wind of it – they were both stubborn, intelligent, determined, and entirely too used to getting what they wanted through sheer force of will. They just weren't compatible. It was no more his fault for being who he was than it was hers for being who _she _was; in his eyes, they shared the blame for the pain they caused each other equally. That's where Barbara seemed to falter in her understanding – she would always be his little girl, but it wasn't his place to shield her from her own mistakes, anymore. She would have to live with her regrets, just like everyone else in the world did. "About what?"

_"About what's going on. He's taking on too much."_

He arched an eyebrow. "And you think _I _can convince him to slow down?"

_"Maybe. He actually listens to you,"_she stated with only a hint of bitterness tinging her voice.

Jim shook his head slowly. She had no idea just how much Batman listened to everyone – _especially _her. He wasn't about to argue it with her; he knew she wouldn't hear any of it. "Barbara...Batman knows his limitations better than I do. I'm not going to ask him to cut back, especially when millions of lives are at stake."

_"No, he _doesn't_ know his limitations, Dad,"_ she retorted strongly. "You've _seen him – you _know_ how he gets. If Gotham's in trouble, he won't stop until someone or something _makes_ him stop, and right now, Dad, he..."_ Barbara exhaled in resignation. _"Dick's been infected with Leopard Fever."_ He straightened at that. _"Tim went undercover without Bruce's permission, Alfred's sick, Leslie's gone, and he won't _listen_ to me, and...he has nobody left, Dad,"_ she pleaded. His heart twinged painfully in his chest. _"I'm...I'm really worried about him."_

He was slightly surprised that she felt any concern at all for Batman after their break-up; Hell hath no fury like a Gordon woman scorned. Still, this was Barbara, soft-hearted and caring, just like her mother. His heart tweaked again. God, he missed Sarah. "I'm in the middle of the Arctic, what do you think I can do from here?"

_"I don't know,"_ she admitted after a moment's pause. _"I just...wanted to keep you in the loop, since I knew Bruce wouldn't."_ That was her way of saying that she was afraid. For the sake of her pride, he let the undercurrent slip through unchecked. _"How are you doing?"_

"A little cold, but still breathing," he answered, adding, "and there's some great coffee here."

There was a quiet huff of laughter. It felt good to hear that from her again. _"You and your coffee."_

He commented with a smirk, "Well, a guy's got to have his priorities in order." He cleared his throat, relinquishing himself to the task required of him. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd have to drag Batman away from the brink for his own good. "I'll see what I can do."

_"Thank you, Dad,"_ she said with a quiet sigh of something like relief. _"I'm sending you the information you need to contact me."_ The screen lit up suddenly, causing him to squint and turn his head away. It hadn't occurred to him just how used to the cave's ambient lighting he'd grown in the few hours he'd been here. _"Feel free to use it, if you need to."_

He read over the string of code with the eye of a complete outsider. He understood the very basics of computers, but he was hardly the whizkid that Barbara was at it. "Thanks, I will."

The soft thrum of static carried over the line for another long, drawn out moment. _"I love you, Daddy."_

He smiled at the monitor, hoping she could sense it and bring her comfort. "I love you, too, sweetie."

The blinking light went dark. Frowning, he grabbed the arm of the nearby high-backed chair and rolled it over to him. Sitting down wearily, Jim rubbed at his temples as he stared sightlessly in front of him. What did she expect him to do? Put on some thermals and trudge his way back to the States? But she was right – Batman was taking one hell of a beating, and a lot of the shots were below the belt. He glanced back down at the sheet of paper he wrote Barbara's contact information on, and then looked at the cool metal keys that rested under his fingers. The wheels in his mind, having grown rusty from years of retirement, groaned as they began turning.

Batman wasn't the only detective around.

* * *

J'onn came to slowly, his senses returning to him one by one. Usually, the first that came to him was his telepathy as he instinctively searched for nearby souls in his vulnerable state. In this instance, much like his time in Copán, he found himself completely alone. He opened his dull red eyes, discerning that his arms and legs were locked against a cold metal wall by some large, cylindrical clasps that engulfed his hands and feet. They were reminiscent of the bonds the Justice Lord Batman used against them years ago, but these were, perhaps, not as advanced. He tested his bonds, tugging his limbs, and then trying to manipulate his way out of them. They proved too strong to break though, and seemed to be made of an alloy that nullified both his shapeshifting and phasing. Not many in the world had the capabilities of creating machinery to contain him, and unless Ra's Al Ghul had been planning to capture League members concurrently with the United Stated government, that meant he had procured that information from an outside source. That concerned him greatly.

It appeared that he would require assistance. Though he was unable to contact any of the League, his connection with Nyssa was still, surprisingly, intact. He reached along the tether and felt an obstruction in her mind, something weighing her down and blocking further access – likely due to whatever attack she suffered that caused him to lose focus and get captured. He _might _be able to remove it, but it would require – a door clattered open with a harsh whine of metal. He closed his eyes quickly, listening to the sharp footfalls against the the stone floor.

The slap that followed was enough to make him wince. Ah, there was his sense of feeling. "Wake up, dog! The Master approaches."

The figure strode through the open doorway, impeccable and refined in every sense of the word. A slight smile dangled at his thin lips when his light blue eyes appraised him. "I see that you've met Ubu," he addressed J'onn, pulling an arm from beneath his ornate green cloak to motion towards his brawny lieutenant. "I apologize for his alacrity in subduing you; it appears he does not appreciate being imitated by outsiders." Ubu harrumphed in agreement, jaw set. "I trust you know who I am."

J'onn cut to the chase. "Why are you doing this?"

Ra's cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side briefly. "If your intent is to relay this information to your allies via telepathy, you will be sorely disappointed." He pointed to the wall he was currently attached to. "The chamber you have found yourself in has been specifically tailored to prevent such communication, along with your...other attributes. As I'm sure you've already noticed."

"You didn't answer my question," J'onn said, steadily picking at Nyssa's locked away mind. "Why are you doing this?"

"I had thought, with the Detective at your side and my daughter under his sway, that you would have learned all of that by now," Ra's answered, raising his hand to his chest in deference. "But, since you have traveled all this way to have an audience with me, I will tell you all you wish to know."

"Because it won't make a difference?" J'onn asked coolly.

Ra's eyes twinkled dangerously. "As you'll soon learn, _nothing _will make a difference."

* * *

Nyssa was aware.

She was rendered immobile, now currently in what she believed to be an infirmary, but her mind was still functioning as it always was – thanks, in no small part, to the Martian for unintentionally absorbing so much of the blow via their link. Had he not been her anchor, whatever pre-programmed response he'd triggered from her subconscious _(no doubt placed there during her stay in the Cadmus labs) _would have likely obliterated her cognitive abilities.

Oh yes, Ms. Waller was going to be hearing from her _very _soon.

But, for now, she listened.

"What has happened to her?"

"I don't know," he admitted. His voice was terse, but somehow, guilty. Unnecessary, given that she offered to help him, and would have gladly paid a higher price if it meant winning his trust. "But her vitals are all normal, which means whatever's affecting her is probably only going after her voluntary motor functions. Locked-In Syndrome." Well, that certainly sounded unpleasant.

Doors hissed open, and then shut. "Do you believe you can help her, beloved?"

"We'll do everything we can," said the Woman. Did Mother ask her? "Have you heard from J'onn?"

"No." This voice was new; it was like steel, wrapped in fleece. She found herself trusting it implicitly. She never did that. Ever. "But then, we told him to maintain radio silence. Are you sure he's in danger?"

"Nyssa said his name before she fell unconscious," the Woman answered. "I think she was trying to warn him."

"Or us."

"We should strike now," the Woman stated boldly. "We know where Ra's Al Ghul is hiding, and even with your countermeasures in hand, we hold the advantage. He can't stop all of us at once."

"I could, which means _he _could," Batman rebuked. "And unlike me, he has thousands of zealots that are willing to die for him on a moment's notice. Charging in won't work here, Princess." Princess? Was that an honorific or a pet name? If she were capable, her hairs would have stood on end.

"We have to do _something_," the new voice exclaimed.

The silence that followed was deafening.

* * *

J'onn felt the slightest twitch of recognition along the tether, which gave him hope that his surreptitious work wasn't all for naught. He redoubled his efforts as Ra's spoke. "You're the last of your kind. You know what it's like to watch a world which you love more than your own life wither and succumb to the viciousness of those who care nothing for it."

"What happened to my world and what is happening to yours aren't the same," J'onn replied evenly.

"It is the _exact _same thing," Ra's insisted, light blue eyes ablaze. "Those in charge of humanity seek only to swell their own pockets, and will destroy anything to do achieve those ends. They are bringing the planet which has given us all life to its knees to slake their own insatiable thirsts for wealth and power!" He held a hand out in J'onn's direction. "Surely you, of all people, have the objectivity to see humanity's destructiveness for what it is."

"Yes, I do see it for what it is," J'onn agreed, sending this information along while continuing to push against Nyssa's mental barrier. Ra's expression seemed to soften at the admission, having believed to have found common ground with his 'guest'. "And what I see in front if me is no less destructive than the ones you're attempting to stop."

The man's long face became thunderous. "If you wish to delude yourself, so be it. What I have spent years trying to achieve is close at hand, and what I have begun cannot be stopped." As quickly as the rage surfaced, it submerged beneath the seemingly tranquil waves of aristocratic refinement. "Using a unique mixture derived from the Lazarus Pits, I have devised a way to siphon the very life essence from anyone who ingests it. Those who are infected with Leopard Fever, unfortunate as their fates may be, are serving a much greater purpose than mere death – they are bringing forth the world's rebirth."

J'onn felt the weight petrifying Nyssa's mind begin to buckle from his attacks on it. "How will the deaths of millions recreate the world?"

"Because the Lazarus Pits and their rejuvenating qualities are no mere natural phenomena. They're portals to another realm of existence – a portal which I will open to this sickly world." Ra's voice held an absolute certainty that sent a shiver down the Martian's spine. "And once humanity has been excised like the festering tumor it has become, the Earth will be reborn anew. Untouched. Pristine."

He could _almost _hear Nyssa's thoughts... "And what realm of existence will you be unleashing?"

A smile tilted Ra's Al Ghul's lips. "The Underworld."

**_To be continued..._**


	21. 21 Caped Crusaders

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Batman's mind raced. A frontal assault on the complex was out of the question; raw firepower was no match for smart tactics, and marching an army into unknown territory while holding a sharp strategic disadvantage was tantamount to slaughter. A small strike force would hold better chances of success, perhaps, but he wasn't going to let more risk their lives needlessly by walking into a booby-trapped stronghold crawling with armed zealots. J'onn had already gotten captured as a result of it, and the only one that came close to his infiltration skills was himself.

Hm. If he could slip in...

"I hope you're not planning on going in by yourself."

He met Superman's questioning gaze. There were times he wondered if Clark had telepathy and just didn't tell anyone about it. "You said it yourself, we _have _to do something."

"Yes – _we_." A hint of a smile curved his lips. "Don't think you're leaving us out of this."

"J'onn's our friend, too," Wonder Woman added, without missing a beat. "We have as much stake in this as you."

He got the distinct impression that he was being tag-teamed, and he didn't like it. "The larger the group, the harder it will be to hide our whereabouts."

"So, we stand in the open and fight," Diana replied, unflinching in the face of one of his more withering glares. She held herself with pride and authority, a fire in her eyes that caused his stomach to tighten minutely. She really was something else. "I'm coming with you – with or without your consent."

Superman stepped forward. "We _both _are."

Yeah, he was definitely being tag-teamed, and quite effectively, at that. Regardless of his own misgivings, he knew that there was little he could do to sway them from their course once they'd set their minds to it. He couldn't muscle their way through them, nor could he manipulate their perception of the situation to his _(and ultimately their)_advantage, and slipping out while they weren't paying attention was evidently out of the question. It looked like he was stuck with them.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't admit to being bothered by it. And that bothered him more than anything.

**21.  
Caped Crusaders  
**

Batman grunted. "Suit yourselves, but don't go rushing into the first group you see; we're still not sure what kind of firepower will be waiting down there for us."

Superman shrugged. "Well, short of Kryptonite, magic, or robot clones, what _could _he have down there that would actually stop the three of us?"

On cue, he reached into one of his belt pouches, procuring four ear plugs and holding them in the palm of his hand. "Sound."

Clark blinked confusedly. "Sound?"

Diana sensed where he was going in the conversation, having already fallen prey to it once herself, and grabbed a pair to use. "Batman's right; the two of us may be more powerful than normal humans, but we're still susceptible to sensory overload. It would be easy to generate a high-pitched sound that would incapacitate us before long."

Dubiously, Superman plucked the other pair from his palm, staring at them as though they were slugs crawling around in his hand. "Was this another one of your schemes to stop us?"

"Yes." Superman didn't look at all comforted by his honesty. Oh well. "Also, be wary of any sort of chamber that looks potentially airtight – you may be invulnerable, but you still need to breathe."

If it were possible, Clark looked even _less _at ease than he did fifteen seconds ago. "You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

"I give _everything _a lot of thought."

Superman placed the plugs in his ears, surprise brightening his boyish features. "Are you sure these will work? I can still hear everything."

"They're made of a specialty sound-dampening polymer – meant to drown out and nullify debilitating sounds while still retaining the ability to hear all other relevant information." He didn't add that those two pairs were specifically custom-tailored to protect the ears of individuals with super-powerful hearing, such as the two metahumans flanking him.

Superman frowned. "Where are yours?"

"My cowl is already equipped with them," he said, quickly changing the subject. "The complex more than likely has frequency jammers like the ones we found in the Metro Tower, rendering any communication between ourselves impossible if we get separated. We'll be own our own, and we'll only have one shot at finding him."

Talia, who to this point had been content to merely hold her unconscious daughter's hand and listen, looked up. "I'm coming with you."

He was afraid she was going to say that. "Do you know the layout of the base?"

"I'm sure I could find my way around," she replied enigmatically.

His gaze hardened. What was she getting at? "If your goal is to try and _save _him – "

"He has harmed my daughter, beloved," Talia rebutted forcefully, pale blue eyes hard. "There will be a reckoning. I will see to it."

Her sudden enthusiasm toward bringing down her father might have been welcome, if the malicious intent hadn't been so clear to read on her face. He couldn't worry about reigning her in while juggling a rescue mission. "We're trying to stop him, not kill him." He felt her rage and understood it, though – all too acutely. His mind momentarily wandered back to Dick. "He'll answer for what he's done, Talia," he added softly, as much to himself as to her. "I promise."

She pondered his words, posture still resolute in her decision, before she sighed. "Very well. I will remain here in case Nyssa's condition changes."

He nodded once, his vow having been made, and turned back to Superman and Wonder Woman. "We'll have to let the others know what we're doing, in case we're captured or killed."

"High hopes as always, huh?" Superman jibed.

"Regardless of the outcome, the League will be more vulnerable than ever without the three of us here," he responded as they exited the infirmary. The last time the three of them walked down these hallways like this, they had all been arguing over future expansions to the League, and who would be the one doing the majority of the training. Both Diana and Clark had immediately suggested he do it, since – according to them – he had the most experience with younger students, but he had none of it. He had his own problems to take care of, and his own proteges to train – he couldn't be bothered teaching more, not without allowing his heretofore separate worlds to mesh in a way that made him very uncomfortable. A Robin in the League meant a Robin that went out on missions without his guidance or permission, which meant a Robin that could get killed due to a teammate potentially letting him down when he needed their backup most.

Moot point, in retrospect – a month and a half later, he was tearing apart Gotham's underworld looking for him, because he'd done exactly what he feared others would do – he didn't watch the boy's back, like he was supposed to. Some mentor.

"Since when are you concerned about the League being vulnerable?" Superman asked in a careful tone.

He gave Clark a sideways glance. "Since the League is the only thing standing between Gotham and destruction."

Kent's eyebrow arched. "Not much trust for the military?"

"Not much trust for ex-Cadmus officials running the show." Specifically, Amanda Waller and whoever claimed to be ex-General Eiling. There was also that looming threat of a nuclear missile if they didn't find a cure before daybreak. He hoped that Waller would keep to her word and stall them, which only resulted in him feeling a bit sick to his stomach. Trusting Waller with _anything _was something he wanted to frantically avoid.

"Speaking of ex-Cadmus," Superman started, all reporter, "have you heard from Waller since you talked with her?"

His expression was characteristically impassive as he stepped onto the elevator that had just stopped on their tier. "In a sense..."

* * *

Waller adjusted her jacket, idly running a finger over the tiniest lump from the state-of-the-art bat-shaped bug that was nestled in her inside breast pocket. She certainly hoped Batman was an attentive listener. She leaned over Faraday's shoulder, getting a closer look at what he was looking up on the computer. "Have you found anything?"

Faraday tossed her an irritated glance. "It's only been five minutes." He returned to his work, speaking as he typed, "I've got security clearance for practically everything, but I'm going to start hitting some roadblocks if I don't find something soon. Whatever Eiling is involved in is high up – _really _high up." Said roadblock splashed across the monitor, letters blinking amiably at them. He sat back with a grunt.

She shoved at his shoulder. "Move aside, let me try."

Faraday regarded her with a mixture of distaste and curiosity. "What, you think you have higher clearance than me?"

"I know people," she mentioned distractedly.

"Oh yeah?" he huffed. "Then why not just call them up and ask?"

She didn't move her eyes from the screen. "It would draw too much attention to myself, and in this line of work, you don't want to do that."

"Funny, I thought that's _exactly_ what you were always trying to do." Her clearance passed through the system with flying colors, detailing project files and highly classified documents. His expression darkened when he saw her complete lack of surprise. "You didn't need my help; you just wanted to throw off the scent trail by using _my _computer and access codes."

"It was a last resort," she said, pouring over the information in front of them. "If Eiling's information is faulty in any way, we could wind up murdering tens of millions for no reason."

He rested his cheek against an upraised fist, dark eyes cold. "Since when has that ever stopped you?"

"And if Eiling is backed by the wrong people," she continued, ignoring him, "they'll be very dedicated to making sure that we _don't _find out about it." Waller turned to him with an expression that seemed almost apologetic. At least, almost apologetic for her. "I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, I understand, alright," he groused. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

She smiled thinly at him. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." She returned to her dissection of government documents, quietly adding, "Provided we _live _through this."

Faraday snorted. "Ever the optimist."

* * *

A strange hush fell over the ever-present buzz of activity that comprised the Watchtower bridge as Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman marched to the Monitor Womb in step. By themselves, they were forces to be reckoned with, but matched together, side by side, most couldn't help but genuflect in awe of their combined presence. Some called them the Big Three, others nicknamed them the Trinity – and, to many of the other Leaguers and civilian techs, they were: justice, vengeance, and truth divine.

Shayera, leaning on a console to read the latest data provided to them by their mystery hacker, craned her neck to stare over her shoulder as they neared. "Any word from J'onn?"

"We think he's been captured," Diana answered. "We're going down there to rescue him."

Shayera nodded and reached for her mace. "Let me contact John and – "

"You're staying," Batman interrupted curtly.

The Thanagarian whirled on her heel, gray wings fluffed in anger. "Listen, you can't keep – "

Batman held up a hand. "Green Lantern was right, earlier. We _are_ being played, like pawns. And I'm one of them." The pause lasted less than a second, but felt significant, none the less. "I'm too close, Shayera. I'm losing my objectivity. I need someone who can think tactically – someone that he _isn't _targeting, and that can still give him a run for his money."

A pair of red eyebrows shot up. For Batman, this was practically a declaration of undying love. "And you think that's me?"

His lips twitched into the ghost of a grin. "You're the best Chess player I know." He reached around her, gloved fingers working over the keyboard of the terminal she was looking at. "I've put in the frequency of a bug on Amanda Waller. Keep it on at all times, and make sure you pay attention to everything you hear – any minor detail could be the one we need to stop the military from turning Gotham into a radioactive wasteland."

Shayera took the order in stride, green eyes focused on the console he'd just reprogrammed. "You really want the League to go up against your country's own military?"

"We've gone up against _gods_," Batman retorted evenly. "What's a military compared to that?"

"We'd better get going," Superman stated as he flew to the transport pad, Wonder Woman following shortly behind.

"I'll input the coordinates." Batman stood close to Shayera as he moved to set the teleporter's destination. Though Batman never seemed to care if he was in someone's personal space or not, he usually avoided any and all physical contact unless it was to cause injury. Wondering what he was up to, she was about to speak up when he quietly asked, head down, "What's my weakness?"

Shayera blinked, as if she hadn't heard him right. "What?"

"My weakness," he repeatedly more clearly. "What is it?"

She frowned. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because I know I'm not the only one with countermeasures," he said, still making a show of working on the controls. She paled a bit, trying not to remember those days. Some of those wounds were still too fresh. "I need to know. How would you stop me?"

She knew, deep down, that he understood her reasons for keeping a list on her teammates better than anyone in the world, but then, that didn't make it right – that didn't make any of the horrible things that she did to her friends right. Her voice was shakier than she would've liked as she shamefully admitted, "By forcing you to sacrifice your life for someone else." He pivoted his head to stare at her, expression unreadable, especially through those opaque lenses of his. "You're too resourceful to be held captive; killing you was the only way."

"Who?" She didn't answer; she didn't want to. "You must have had someone in mind when you thought this out."

She swallowed, throat having gone inexplicably dry even as her alto strengthened. She tensed her shoulders. "Someone you care about – Robin, Alfred, maybe Clark or Diana, if I had them in custody. You'd never forgive yourself if you let them die." He looked away, focusing on the two that stood patiently on the transport pad. A beat passed as they both concluded that had she put her plan into action, it would have worked exactly as she'd hoped – pluck the right strings, and she knew he'd dance to her tune, just like everyone else. Shayera suddenly wanted to vomit. "I'm sorry."

Batman stood smoothly, hitting the key that began the transport sequence. "Don't be," he reassured, baritone neutral as he started down the stairwell. "It's what makes you a better opponent."

* * *

J'onn felt the wall surrounding Nyssa's mind finally buckle beneath his constant assault. With a rush of backlogged emotion, she sent out a fervent, _'J'onn!' _It felt almost like an embrace.

He pressed against her mind curtly, trying to quiet her. Though he was glad for her freedom, the current situation took priority. _ 'Listen.' _He began sending her vital information as he attempted to learn more from his captor, who currently stood oozing polite affluence in the face of his chained countenance. The dichotomy would have been enough to intrigue him in other, less life-threatening situations. "Releasing Hades and his minions won't bring about the rebirth that you're expecting."

Ra's hummed contemplatively. "I've heard of your exploits involving Hades. What Faust failed to understand is that one should never expect an even trade with a god – I ask for nothing in return, save that he ensures the world is returned to its former untarnished state. I will even give him an offering, to seal our pact."

"Offering?"

"Without a sudden burst of energy, the process of destabilizing the barrier between realms would take months – and given your interference here, I'm to assume that my window of opportunity has grown quite small," he explained. "That burst of energy will be coming from the people of Gotham, shortly after it is obliterated by a nuclear blast, sent forth by the very government that is supposedly there to protect them." The Demon's Head smiled slightly. "Ten million souls, delivered en masse, should be a suitable gift for one of Hades' status, should it not?"

The League had dealt with many variety of madmen, but he'd never seen one that exuded such _conviction _– the man before him truly believed, wholly and completely, that his cause was righteous and just, and that humanity's subjugation, if not outright destruction, would pave the way for a new Golden Age for the world. Ra's Al Ghul wasn't merely a puppetmaster tugging on the strings of the lost and disenfranchised for personal gain; he was a true believer in his crusade. J'onn's blood ran cold. "You're insane."

"Insanity is relative, J'onn J'onnz," Ra's riposted. "For example, you insist on saving a species that is determined to doom itself, even though you're aware of their hatred and mistrust of you."

"I am aware of the repercussions of my actions," J'onn answered, funneling all of this information Nyssa's way as quickly as he could. "Do you realize what Hades will do to humanity once you've released him? What he will do to you?"

Ra's appeared unconcerned. "Humanity is of no concern to me, and I have my own defense against the Lord of the Underworld." He reached into the neckline of his suit, pulling out a portion of a medallion, its thin gold chain reflecting the meager light as though it were luminescent. "An heirloom from Thailand that draws from magical energies that even _gods _fear to strike against. A bargain will be made, and then, the world will be reborn." He carefully stuffed it back into his suit, straightening his cloak with his hands as the cell door swung open, a slender figure walking up behind him. "It's a pity you won't be there to see it."

J'onn stared in surprise at the newcomer. "Dr. Dahluzett?"

The scientist glanced up to him, over the rims of her thin black glasses, and grinned politely. "It's good to see you again, J'onn. Do you like the accommodations I've made for you?"

She spoke as though they were at a charity banquet, and not in the bowels of a secret underground base. That certainly ruled out duress. Could it have been nanites? "You willingly assisted the Society of Shadows?"

She adjusted her glasses minutely as she replied, "I was presented an opportunity I couldn't turn down. Creating a transporter to another realm of existence? Think of the scientific implications of such a device!"

J'onn was tempted to tell her that such a device had already been created years ago, but decided for a more direct approach. "The implication is your device will bring about the annihilation of humanity."

"Humanity's family tree could stand a bit of pruning," she answered cheekily, thoroughly amused at herself. "Either way, any true scientist is interested only in the discovery; _I've _discovered a way to help reshape the world for the better. Who wouldn't want that honor?"

Definitely not nanites, then. He wished he could read her mind – or, at this point, he surmised what was left of it. He never suspected any treachery from her during the Watchtower's construction; she'd been odd, somewhat unpredictable, but nothing that hinted at this level of hubris. He began to wonder if scientists that weren't insane or out of touch with reality even existed, or, perhaps, if Batman's perchance for unintentionally attracting the severely unstable was in play here. Regardless, he decided that any further outside contractors they hired from this point on would go through the most rigorous psychological examination he could possibly create.

J'onn returned his attention to Ra's. "You knew the government would eventually resort to a nuclear response."

"Violence is the _only _response humanity understands," Ra's retorted. "It was only a matter of time before eradication became a viable solution to their problem. Manipulating the system to achieve those ends was even easier than I expected." His smile widened a fraction, eyes alight with a strange sort of mirth. "Falsifying evidence to claim that the League manufactured the disease in a gambit to curry favor with various political powers after finding a cure was all that was required to seal your fate in the eyes of many. I'm rather amazed that no criminal has ever sought to do so before."

His glowing red eyes narrowed. "You contacted Amanda Waller."

"Her mistrust of you runs deeply, yes, but not as deep as the once-great 'General' Eiling." J'onn furrowed his brows in confusion. Eiling? "Even with his power and influence, his fear of the Justice League drove him to toss it all aside in a failed attempt at vindication. Though the government he once spurned has foolishly allowed him reenter the fold, his vendetta against your organization remains as potent as ever. Ironic that he would be so enamored with the thought of saving his country from you that he would end up delivering it directly to me without knowing. I suppose that is the price to be paid for a lack of perspective."

Ra's turned smartly on the heel of one polished black shoe as he and his entourage slowly filed out of the small, dark room. "Now that I've answered all of your questions, I must excuse myself – the final preparations must be made before the assault begins."

"Wait," J'onn said, trying to keep his captor in the room, trying to buy someone – anyone – enough time to stop this, "I have one question left to ask you." Ra's stopped at the edge of the door, peering curiously over his shoulder. "Why did you pick Gotham City as your staging ground?"

"Concerned for the Detective's mental state?" Ra's questioned.

"I am concerned for the millions of lives you're putting in jeopardy," J'onn sidestepped easily.

Ra's eyes darkened briefly in distrust, before he stated, "The contagion which I created is no mere disease of the body; it is also a disease of the spirit. The weak, the weary, and the demoralized are far more susceptible to the plague's effects than an average, healthy human being, making Gotham City a prime candidate for infection."

"There are many such cities around the world," J'onn pressed. "Gotham stood out for another reason."

Ra's paused for a moment, as if debating on whether or not to answer. "Yes, there was," he said finally. "Years ago, I offered the Detective a chance to become my heir and continue my work on a more gradual scale; one that would not lead to such bloodshed and loss of life. His selfish dismissal of my proposal has forced my hand – if his desire to protect Gotham creates such an obstacle for him, then it is an obstacle that must be _removed._" He stepped through the heavy steel door frame, continuing as he exited, "There are times when one must sacrifice that which they love most for the greater good. No one man, no one city, is worth the world. It is a painful lesson that all men must learn in time – so, too, shall he."

The cell door slammed shut.

* * *

Faraday's computer beeped suddenly, breaking the deafening silence that had fallen between them. Not like they had much to talk about aside from work, anyway. "Found something," Waller declared.

King looked up curiously, sitting straighter in the hard-backed chair he dragged in from his kitchen. "What?"

"Take a look." He stood easily, sidling behind Waller to stare at the faintly glowing screen. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Does an organization named 'Checkmate' sound familiar to you?"

He shook his head as he began reading the documentation in front of him. Why did they always have stupid names? "Can't say that it does."

Waller scrolled down quickly, faster than he could keep up with, he noted with a scowl. One of these days, he was going to learn to speed read. "Looks like it's another NSA offshoot that deals specifically with metahumans."

He quirked one bushy black brow. "Isn't that what your department is for?"

"You know better than that by now, Faraday," Waller reprimanded him lightly. "Behind every Devil you know is another Devil you don't." She stopped scrolling suddenly, pressing one manicured finger into the flat LCD screen. "Look who signs off on the reports."

He saw the name before she pointed it out, his teeth set on edge in a battle between dismay and exasperation. Bureaucratic idiots. "Eiling. Why would they put him in charge again after his stunt in Metropolis?"

Waller's expression was carefully, expertly, flat as she responded, "Because the fallout of Cadmus rested squarely on me."

"The price of success." He batted her hand away from the mouse, squeezing her to the side so he could better see the monitor without having to hover over her shoulder like some sort of parrot. He frowned when the better angle didn't seem to adjust any of the information he thought he was reading incorrectly. "There's no list of any report from his agents finding the intel in that folder. Where did he get it?"

"Knowing Eiling, if it involved the League, he probably didn't bother to ask." With a speed that someone of her particular weight class didn't seem capable of, Waller stood from Faraday's workstation, cell phone in hand. "I need to inform the President of this; _you _need to find Eiling and bring him in for questioning."

Faraday's frown deepened. "Aren't metahumans _your _department?"

She pressed the cell against her ear, hastily answering, "Don't worry, you'll be receiving help."

He balked. "From who?"

On cue, the hallway lit up with a blinding column of light. When it faded, half a dozen costumed heroes of various shapes, sizes, and species crowded his living room. Steel slung his mighty hammer over one shoulder with a small grin. "You needed backup?"

Faraday blinked twice, then turned his head to a smirking Waller, who merely said, "I told you, Faraday – I know people."

* * *

Flash held the vial gingerly in his right hand, staring at the bubbling purple goop that was puddled at the base of it. So _this_ was the vaccine. All of the simulations he ran in the last twenty minutes _(nearly sixty; it would've been more, if the computer hadn't been so slow to catch up to him) _came back the same – it rendered the active mutagenic properties of the disease inert and impotent. This stuff should do the trick. Well, he hoped it would, anyway. The plasma sample Batman got from his little spook next door was only enough to synthesize two doses of it – not a really high margin of error they were working with, here. Didn't really bother him all that much, though, considering that he'd been boomeranged near the sun, had his brain swapped with an evil villain, and saved the world a gazillion times beforehand with functionally less to go on than he had in his hand right now.

Wally's focus passed through the container and landed solidly on a barely conscious Nightwing, who laid limply on the bed. The vigilante's half opened eyes, which had been lolling along the ceiling for the better part of ten minutes, flicked toward him with an abrupt sharpness and clarity. "Take a picture," he huffed quietly, "it'll last longer."

"And gross out everyone? No way, dude," Flash riposted, mood brightening slightly as Nighty's dry and peeling lips twitched into a grin that seemed to come easily, even in the face of his deteriorating condition. This guy was every bit as stubborn as his mentor and then some _(he was _so_ going to have to wrangle them both into a poker match one day)_, and that served to further fuel his need to get this antigen up and running. Anyone that could out-Bat the Bat and _still _be awesome to hang with was someone worth pulling out all the stops for.

He softly flicked the glass with the tip of his finger, watching the solution froth within its confines for the breadth of a second. No time like the present. He inhaled and grabbed a syringe.

* * *

It had been years since Selina felt such a rush – an exhilaration – before flinging herself off into the night, on the prowl, and ready to take whatever she pleased. Back then, the rush was largely from her meetings with Batman, but with time came a coolness that crept into their relationship. She had gone from an equal, a not-quite lost cause that he could redeem, to just another painting in the Rogue's Gallery. She'd begun to wonder if he had grown bored of the chase and moved onto better, more responsive prey, but his actions tonight cemented that she made far more of an effect on him than she realized.

It was a shame that he'd given his heart to someone else, if only because that meant their eventual meetings were going to become that much colder. It was for the best, though. She was never very good at long-term relationships, and Bruce – Batman – well, his love was for Gotham first and foremost. In the end, she knew she could never compete, and really, being leashed to one city was something she couldn't do. Still, he deserved some measure of happiness, and if Bruce's mystery woman truly wished to give that to him, Selina certainly wouldn't begrudge her – because boy, did she have her work cut out for her.

She slid the mask over her face, glancing down at her skin-tight suit to ensure that her whip was firmly in place. It was, as it had been for the last ten times she looked. She stood atop the balcony of her high-rise apartment, Isis contentedly purring against her neck, and gaped down at the ordered chaos that went on in the distance. Now was as good a time as any to try out the whole Good Guy thing, she surmised. Maybe then she could finally figure out just what it was about it that kept drawing Batman to it.

She smirked, hopping onto the metal ledge in a lithe crouch as she loosed her whip. Besides, it wasn't like heroes didn't allow themselves small _trophies _of their victories, from time to time...

* * *

Nightwing, heavy-limbed and generally feeling like stir-fried crap, tried not to think about just how quickly he was nosediving. Leopard Fever affected the body, but his mind was still as sharp as it ever was, and right now, the prognosis was sounding really grim. That worried him, but not for the reasons one might think. The prospect of dying wasn't all that appealing – it really messed with his _Feng shui _– but he'd knocked on Death's door a couple of times before already, and well, been there, done that, got the T-shirt. What bothered him was knowing that his death would just give Bruce that much more of a reason to act like a manipulative, pigheaded jerk and push people away. That's not what he wanted his legacy to be; he didn't want to bring misery to those he loved. He couldn't stand the thought of it.

He grit his teeth, feeling them pulse painfully inside his head, and steered his train of thought away from the negativity that crept up on him. No, he wasn't going to die, and he reminded himself that it was actually a good thing that he was here. He knew that poisoned dart had been meant for Bruce, and if what he suspected about the disease was anywhere near accurate, all that festering guilt Tall, Dark, and Gloomy had been holding onto would've eaten him alive. Literally. Ra's probably knew that, too, which is why Bruce was set up the way he was.

No way was he going to die, not now, not like this. He needed to pull through, just so he could get in the fight and knock Ra's down a peg or twelve, and redeem his good name. Reduced to a spandex-clad damsel in distress – _again_? Come on, what kind of impression was he leaving on people with a record like that? Bruce was _not _gonna have all the fun, this time.

Of course, there was that small matter of beating a heretofore fatal disease without any idea as to how. That was the fun part. Luckily for him, he had a nurse capable of moving at the speed of sound to keep him from buying the farm anytime soon. Once all of this was over, he estimated that he would owe Flash about fifteen-thousand boxes of donuts. Chump change, in the grand scheme of things.

Flash entered the airtight chamber with a whoosh of air, syringe in hand. However, instead of injecting him with the churning purple mess, the speedster inserted a needle that was attached to a thin, translucent tube into his arm. In another whir of red, the tube was then attached to a fairly small machine that sat just outside of his cell, on a sterile metal cart. Dick blinked once, forcing his eyes to focus on both it and its operator. "What are you doing?" he croaked.

Flash rolled up one red-clad sleeve past his elbow, pricking his left arm with a similar tube-attached needle. "We don't have the same blood type, so I had to improvise." He patted the device on the cart once. "This bad boy here should separate the plasma from my bloodstream, and then pump it directly into you with a flick of a switch."

Dick's already pinched expression tightened further. He wasn't liking the sound of this. "And why do I need your plasma?"

At that, the Flash smiled, brazen and confident. "The Fastest Man Alive means the fastest metabolism alive." He held up the syringe. "Your condition's too advanced for any vaccine to help you now; your immune system just won't be able to keep up. But _mine _can."

Alarm bells rang inside of Dick's head, in time with the screaming of his muscles. "If that stuff doesn't work, you'll be killed in minutes. And even if it _does_ work, you're still sending all your antibodies to _me _– meaning you won't be able to fend it off yourself."

Flash shrugged, lips still curled up in good humor. "Hey, what's the point of being a hero if you don't stick your neck out sometimes?"

The Flash injected himself with the vaccine.

* * *

Compared to the carefully controlled temperatures of the Watchtower, the climate of northern Cuba was like stepping into a sauna, even in the dead of night. Letting the long-since familiar tingling from transport fade from his limbs, Batman pulled out a pair of binoculars and quickly inspected the otherwise unassuming facility that loomed in the distance. "Remember," he began, "stay together, and don't stick your neck out unnecessarily – we won't have any backup coming."

"We won't need any." Without preamble, Wonder Woman launched herself into the hazy night air, lasso unfurled and fists clenched. Before any of the guards could successfully take aim at the humanoid missile hurtling towards them, she angled herself downward, plowing straight through a section of girders that held the reactor's communication tower aloft. The two remaining undamaged legs groaned and buckled under the added weight, toppling into the man-made courtyard in a shower of sparks; men scattered in all directions to avoid being crushed under tons of steel.

The plume of smoke, along with the chaos that erupted as a result of it, was noticeable even from their position nearly a third of a mile away. Batman sighed quietly. "So much for staying together."

Superman's expression was alight with what he assumed to be an appreciation for a fellow bull wrecking the local china shop. "Look on the bright side; she knows how to make an entrance. Come on." He then gripped Batman's forearm and took to the sky.

His eyes widened in momentary surprise and outrage, pointedly disregarding the way his shoulder popped unpleasantly from the sudden movement, before settling on glaring at the Man of Steel for all he was worth. Of course, as was often Kent's way when he did things to purposely annoy him, he was ignored. Still, it offered him a nice vantage point of the havoc Diana had created in such a short amount of time. The efficiency at which she'd turned the complex upside-down was impressive, to say the least. It had been a long, long time since he'd had the pleasure of watching her work up close.

That made her a distraction.

Shayera's words became all the more sharply focused in his mind as he, unable to shake the feeling that this was all one huge strategic blunder on his part, touched down along with Superman, but it was too late to worry about ifs and buts now. They were in the middle of the fray, with the telltale staccato of ricocheted bullets inside the building, and the overhead wailing of an air raid siren, signaling their arrival and the incoming rush of reinforcements flooding from the lower floors. Superman glanced upward. "Looks like they're laying down the welcome mat for us."

Eight soldiers sailed out of the building's entrance, landing against the cement with harsh cracks of broken bone and cartilage. It was Batman's turn to appreciate the scene. "We've got a welcome mat of our own."

Wonder Woman's silhouette appeared in the door, shortly before another armed guard was hurled head first down the hallway with an aborted shriek. "Are you two coming?"

The two men exchanged similarly amused looks, and for one, single, solitary moment, it was like the past four years had never happened.

He didn't realize just how much he missed this. _(He wouldn't let himself.)_

Batman mock-saluted while Superman smiled and replied, "Yes, ma'am."

_**To be continued...**_


	22. 22 Rule of Thirds

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Rarely were situations so dire that the plucking of a single thread could threaten to unravel the entire tapestry, and yet, that was precisely what Phantom Stranger was witnessing. In an odd way, he found such an infrequent occurrence somewhat fascinating – he was not, nor had he ever been, human. However, the thought of finding their plight intriguing, however remotely, struck him as resoundingly crass and callous. Perhaps he was learning as much from them as they were from him.

Regardless, he watched impassively, as was his way, while the various factions, agendas, and ideals finally began to intertwine with one another – or, in a few notable cases, outright collide. Batman had likened the dilemma to a game of Chess; were that the case, humanity was in check, and their next move could win or lose the match for them. Even though he'd abdicated tactical control of League forces to Shayera Hol, he still remained the most important piece on the board.

It followed, of course; in his experience, knights were always the most dangerous.

**22.  
Rule of Thirds  
**

Fully three dozen armed, black-clad guards waited, assault rifles at the ready and aimed at the elevator built into the end of the hallway that slowly descended to their level. The leader, having already been made a fool of once and determined not to become so again, did not wait for the carriage to fully stop before he and his compliment of troops opened fire on it. A wall of lead shredded the hatch doors, sparks of thin metal being punctured lighting up the otherwise dim corridor as the men unloaded full clips of bullets into the still-closed doors. The leader, wanting to make sure that his prey didn't manage to survive, this time, chucked a grenade that rolled easily through the slowly opening doors, detonating in a dense cloud of gritty, gray smoke.

The haze of gunpowder and burnt munitions hung lazily between them as they warily stared at the empty carriage, now defined by bullet holes and clear scorch marks. Tensely, the leader crept forward a pace, machine gun primed to fire upon anything that mysteriously appeared in front of him, footfalls silent.

Slightly less silent was the small metallic _pink _that echoed from two tiny metal balls rolling under his feet. He gaped down at them confusedly. Marbles?

They hissed quietly, releasing noxious gas.

Fully three dozen armed, black-clad guards were rendered unconscious in fifteen seconds.

Batman slipped through the emergency hatch above, slinking into the hallway while Wonder Woman and Superman floated down behind him. Superman looked at the spectacle, hands on his hips. "I don't understand why you didn't just let me deflect the shots."

"The resulting ricochets would've done more harm than good," said Batman, kneeling by the point-man and rifling through his tunic to search for any tools of value.

Wonder Woman smirked. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

Batman plucked a small access card from the man's sleeve. "It pays to take pride in one's work." He stood, facing Superman. "Where to now?"

Superman's expression tightened, using his X-Ray vision to scan the entire base for available routes and incoming resistance. "More forces coming in from our left. J'onn's two floors down to our – " He straightened, startled. "Dr. Dahluzett?"

Wonder Woman blinked as well. "The missing scientist? Is she being held hostage, as well?"

He refocused on what he saw at the base of the complex. "No, she's..._working _with him. Some sort of machine, over a vat."

Batman frowned, pocketing the card. "Of course. Ra's is never far away from a pit, even if he has to create one himself."

Diana turned to them, declaring, "Splitting up may not be the best idea, but whatever Ra's Al Ghul is creating can't be for the good of Man's World."

"Agreed," Batman replied. "Superman, you find J'onn, Diana and I will worry about Ra's." He raced down the hallway, scalloped cape flared behind him as he added over his shoulder, "Meet up when you can."

Diana and Kal's eyes met briefly. She nodded and trailed after him. Clark sent a silent prayer off for his two friends and flew in the opposite direction.

* * *

Former-General Wade Eiling stood, massive and disfigured hands laced pensively behind his back, as he studied a diagram of Gotham City pinned to a cork board wall. Sure, it was more low-tech than the rest of his team were used to, but defunct Fifties-era fallout shelters weren't exactly equipped with state-of-the-art functionality. He'd already sent the order to Vreelend for an immediate personnel evacuation to be completed by 0530. The President expressed his doubts about his timetable, but then, the President was sitting back, posh and safe in the White House, while he was down here in the trenches, watching the infected ravage their home and countrymen with reckless abandon like rabid wolves. It was the stuff out of nightmare scenarios, the kind they _loved _to theorize about in West Point. Well, the debate was all academic, now. He knew what needed to be done.

The silence that had fallen was interrupted by one Christopher Smith, AKA Peacemaker. He tugged at the bill of his ballcap anxiously. "You sure this is a good idea, General? You know, hiding so close to a city that's about to be bombed?"

Sitting at the end of a flimsy metal table, casually flicking a Zippo open and shut, Manchester Black retorted in that thick cockney brogue of his, "A good place to watch the fireworks, I say." He leaned back in his fold-out chair, resting his feet on the tabletop. "You oughtta be lucky that you can't hear the things all those blokes are thinkin' right about now. If you ask me, turnin' this place into a smolderin' crater can't do nothin' but help."

"We're not just here to watch," answered the third member of his team, a masked assassin that went by the codename Deathstroke. The man held absolutely no loyalties to anyone or anything, but he was renowned for his skills, and was as shrewd as they came. Eiling determined that as long as he kept the money flowing better than other avenues, he could keep _Mr. Wilson _on his side and in line. And if he couldn't, there was always his ability to crush the mercenary's skull like a grape. "I believe the General is under the impression that the Justice League may try to interfere with the launch. If we're too far outside of city limits, we won't be able to intercept them in time to make sure that they don't."

Manchester snorted. "_You're_a mind reader, too, now, eh?" He set his chair down flat, leering. "What am I thinking now? C'mon, then!"

"I make a point to understand the motivations of all those around me." His attention turned to Peacemaker. "If you had doubts about the General's plans, you should've taken the opportunity to mention it before we started."

"I'm not doubting him," Peacemaker backpedaled with a shrug, "he's the boss, after all. Radiation poison's a nasty way to go, is all."

The nearby elevator doors slid back with a harsh clattering of aged and underused metal, General Flagg stepping out in combat fatigues. "So's a bullet, Peacemaker. You have your orders, now pipe down and follow them." The gunslinger raised his hands in non-verbal surrender, shaking his head in silence. Having quieted him, Flagg marched to Eiling, saluting crisply.

He gave the sheaf of papers in his subordinate's hand a sidelong glance. "Has Vreeland completed the evacuation yet?"

Flagg tensed, just a little. "No, sir." He held out the stack of notes. "We just received new orders from the DOD. We're to stand down...pending investigation for treason."

Eiling's head whipped around, glaring down at the comparatively little soldier. "Treason? Under whose authority?"

"Ours."

He turned, finding himself face to face with Special Agent King Faraday, flanked by six members of the Justice League. His beady, yellowed eyes narrowed, recognizing the roster. Green Lantern, Steel, Black Canary, Big Barda, Doctor Light, and Booster Gold – some of the strongest on their list. But no Superman. His mind digested that information, feeling almost insulted. He raised one leathery brow. "Running errands for the League now, Faraday?"

"Actually, we've been deputized," Booster replied jovially, arms akimbo, "so, _technically_– "

"You're a military man, Eiling," Faraday interrupted curtly, "you know the rules. Drop your weapons and come along quietly."

"What did they tell you?" he questioned, sensing more than seeing that his team was now on their feet, positioning themselves to strike. "That I've gone mad with power? That I'm a threat to society, the way _they _are?" He snorted, enhancing hearing making out the quiet ratcheting of Peacemaker's pistols from beneath the table. "Sorry, Special Agent, but a soldier's priority isn't just to his Commander in Chief – it's to his entire country. I've got a job to do, and right now, you're in the way of it."

Eiling attacked.

* * *

Nyssa all but left Mother in her frantic wake as she rushed through the elevator doors and onto the Watchtower bridge. The traitor stood, arms folded over her chest in contemplation as she mused over a wealth of information being steamed across the holographic screen. She saw the word 'Eiling' among the mighty wall of text, and a tingle of dread jolted up her spine. "We need to talk."

Hol's bright green eyes widened in surprise at her arrival, before hardening in momentary distrust. Idiot woman. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the infirmary?"

"My grandfather is summoning Hades," she said bluntly.

That got her attention. Good. Maybe she wasn't too late, after all.

* * *

J'onn squinted from the light as his cell door creaked open and then swung closed with a thunderous clang, two masked soldiers marching towards him. One held a filled syringe in his hand. He knew what was coming, and wished that he could touch his beloved wife's mind one more time. "The Master says that you have outlived your usefulness," hissed the second, taller, man.

"I didn't realize I was useful to him," J'onn retorted aloofly.

"You were, alien," he said reproachfully. "You have led your friends here to their deaths."

They were here? That meant Nyssa was able to get his warning off. They could stop him from releasing Hades. He felt himself relax, even as his would-be murderer lifted the needle for him to see more clearly. There was no fear. "Then it will be my friends who avenge mine."

"Silence, infidel!" He turned to his silent, syringe-bearing compatriot and nodded. "Do it."

The soldier aimed the needle at his arm – and then wheeled around, snake-fast, stabbing it into the other thug's neck.

The higher-ranking officer shuddered violently as the chemical coursed through his system, gripping the betrayer's arm in a futile attempt at keeping balance. The smaller figure looped an arm around the limp soldier, laying him on the ground while tossing the used syringe to the side. J'onn watched this with an amazed fascination, trying to ascertain what just happened. "Who are you?"

The black-clad man sprang to his feet, keys in hand, and closed the distance quickly. "Come on, J'onn, you don't recognize me?" He tugged his cloth cowl off.

He stared at the familiar masked face. It had been entirely too long. "Robin."

The young man's expression hardened somewhat. "Not exactly." He unlocked the Martian from his bonds, and caught the superhero as he stumbled forward. "Easy; find your legs, first."

J'onn's focus fell upon the unmoving body to the right. "That soldier, did you – ?"

"He's fine," Tim assured, "the solution is only a sedative to humans, but it's fatal to you."

J'onn covertly scanned the former Robin's mind. "One of Batman's plans."

His shoulders went taut, tersely answering, "Yeah. Full of surprises, isn't he?" The sound of gunshots rang loudly outside of the door. Tim frowned in mild irritation. "Now what?"

The reinforced steel door flew from its hinges like it were made of styrofoam, clanging to the ground as Superman rushed forward. "Don't worry, J'onn, I've..." He stopped mid-step. "Tim?"

"Little late, big guy," Tim responded with a small, self-assured grin, "but I'll give you extra points for the entrance."

The Man of Steel smiled, grabbing J'onn's forearm to steady him. Clark looked down at the boy – man, now – that he hadn't seen in almost five years and clapped a hand on his shoulder. The poor kid was always going to be short. "It's good to see you're okay. I know Batman will be glad to see you."

Tim's grin suddenly turned sour. "Yeah. I'll bet."

J'onn, having recovered enough, sped through the door. "We have to hurry. I'll explain along the way."

* * *

_'Batman. Diana.'_

The voice that suddenly boomed in his head was startling, given how much he was concentrating on not being perforated by automatic gunfire, but he would have been lying if he said he wasn't relieved. They'd found him. "J'onn's loose," he informed Wonder Woman, who was currently surrounded by a group of five, deflecting bullets and taking down deadly combatants with grace and efficiency. She made it look so easy.

She didn't spare a glance over her shoulder, grabbing two men by their throats and slamming their heads together. "I heard. Do you think he's okay?"

The remaining three men tried to fire their machine guns at point blank range; two had their barrels bent in half, the third had the rifle yanked away by a thin titanium cord. The first two collapsed to the ground, unconscious and suffering from broken jaws, while the third went airborne by a powerful kick to the chest. Batman landed in a crouch next to her, muscles pulsing with blood and adrenaline. It felt good. "Sounds fine to me."

_'You must destroy the machine Ra's Al Ghul has made – it is designed to create a tear between Earth and the Underworld, using those infected by Leopard Fever to power it.'_

Diana's shoulders stiffened, fists clenching that much harder. "Hades."

Batman, frankly, wondered why he was at all surprised about the development. It was all beginning to make sense, now – at least, about as much sense as one of Ra's plans ever really made. "And Gotham being destroyed is just the kind of jump-start Ra's would need."

She hovered in the air, a dangerous glint in her eye. "Like Tartarus he will!" She launched herself down the dimly lit corridor. "Come on!"

* * *

_"Green Lantern, come in."_

John ducked a massive gray fist, generating a partial bubble to stop the hail of gunfire that came from his left. Eiling was a hell of a lot faster than he looked. He heard Shayera's voice ring in his ear, barely having enough time to deflect an elbow aimed for his face. He created a clamp on Eiling's arm and tugged, twisting it painfully. "Go ahead," he grunted through clenched teeth. This was like trying to arm-lock Superman.

Eiling, being trained military _(even if he _was_ Air Force)_, shifted his weight, sweeping a leg under his and following with a left hook. He sailed into a pile of crates as he heard, _"Whatever you do, don't let Eiling destroy Gotham."_

He groaned and pulled himself out, hand on his head. "Working on that, thanks." He looked up, eyes large, and dove out of the way as the topic of their conversation careened feet first into crates he'd landed in, pulverizing both them and floor beneath it.

_"No, John, you don't get it. Eiling's just a patsy."_

He hovered in the air, green coating his form. "Who's playing him, then?"

_"Take a wild guess."_

John fired an energy beam at the monstrous figure, hoping that the shot would've been enough of a distraction to force him on the move. Instead, he merely raised one hulking arm and swatted it away with a scoff of disgust. "Is _this _the strongest the Justice League has to offer without Superman in its ranks?" He cracked his knuckles, lips sliding back into a grotesque half-snarl. "I wish I'd have known that sooner – I would've wiped all of you off the face of the map years ago, if I had."

"Woulda, coulda, shoulda." A pair of glowing green crab claws shot forward with the force of a Boeing 747, slamming Eiling into a far wall. He tightened his fist, the claws digging through the concrete as they further pinned the general. "What's Ra's Al Ghul getting out of all this?" he responded to Shayera.

_"A power source, and a way to release Hades."_

_What_? His concentration broke abruptly. "Wait, did you just say – "

John's head was engulfed by one rock-like palm, shortly before it was hammered into the pavement. "Never take your eye off the enemy, soldier." He began to squeeze.

A moment later, Eiling was sent flying through the air by a well-placed shoulder ram, courtesy of Big Barda. "Take your own advice." She grabbed the dazed Lantern by the front of his suit and coarsely lifted him to his feet. "Get up, no time to rest now."

John found himself smirking in spite of himself_ (and his now-fractured jaw)_. "You'd have made a great Marine."

_"Quit flirting with Barda and stop Eiling, already."_

Barda's eyebrow twitched. "Possessive, isn't she? I like her."

He made a noise that was somewhere between a growl of displeasure and a groan of resignation. "Great."

* * *

Batman and Wonder Woman met surprisingly little resistance on their way into the bowels of Juragua. While it was possible that the Society soldiers realized who they were dealing with and fled, he considered that entirely too convenient.

Evidently, Diana agreed. "Something's not right," she stated as they neared the thick gray double-doors at the end of the hall. "If Ra's Al Ghul has access to your countermeasures, why haven't any of his men used them on us?"

He quickly began hacking the door's locking sequence while she set about watching his back. "In all honesty, Princess, there aren't many ways to counter you."

"You found a way to do it."

A bullet ricochet pinged a hair's breadth from his cowl. He ignored it. "I know you better than most."

In spite of the cacophony of automatic gunfire that echoed in the narrow corridor, there was a strangely pregnant pause before she replied, "You do."

He grimaced inwardly. _ 'Not the time for confessions, Diana.' _"I'm almost through."

"I have a better idea." Backing up next to him, the muscular Amazon reached one arm behind her and dug her fingers into the steel alloy, the metal buckling under her might like putty in the hands of a sculptor. With a grunt of exertion, she yanked, tearing the door from its hinges and hurling it headlong into the small team of soldiers in front of them.

She turned to the kneeling Dark Knight with a satisfied smirk on her face, raising her empty arm to the newly opened entrance. "After you."

His poker face remained intact as he slid to his feet. "The door could've been booby trapped."

"If it was, you'd have said something." Her smirk widened, dark blue eyes twinkling. "I know you better than most, too."

"Do you?"

"I do." There was another brief pause, a contemplative expression passing her features, before she inhaled, looked at him, and quickly pressed her lips against his.

His eyes promptly went wide. _'Definitely _not_ the time, _or_ the place, Diana!'_

She pulled back, eyes warm with compassion. He felt as though he should say something, chide her for wasting time, but something in her expression captured his attention. She smiled softly. "They don't live through Gotham, Bruce – they live through _you_." Her hand flattened against his left shoulder in comfort. "You honor their lives with yours."

Bruce felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Amazingly, the indignant rage he was expecting didn't come. That bothered him. He _wanted_ to get angry; anger was comfortable and familiar. _This_, this was... Truthfully, he had absolutely no idea how to take what he just heard.

Not the time, or the place, he reminded himself. He shook off her words, mask firmly in place once again. "We'll discuss this later."

He wasn't sure if he meant that or not.

* * *

Booster ducked behind a small wall to avoid being peppered by bullets from that gunslinging psycho with the really stupid looking ballcap. What was his name? Pacemaker? Something like that. He guessed he should've paid attention to GL when he was bringing all of this up. Oh well, live and learn. "Is it me, or are we getting creamed, here?"

"It looks like things could be going a lot better for us, sir," Skeets, his ever-faithful metal companion, replied dutifully.

"I mean, we outnumber them, what gives?" he mused, taking pot shots as he could before diving back in.

Faraday laid down much-needed cover fire, yelling in reply, "These guys are highly trained professionals; they were hand-picked to fight people like you!"

"Aw, man," Booster groused as he took the opportunity to slip out of the cubby and take the fight to Peacemaker – oh yeah, _that _was his name! – with a well-placed right cross to the chin. "That doesn't really seem all that fair."

Skeets reminded him, "You have a superpowered suit that has built-in technology several hundred years beyond this current time-period, sir."

He scoffed. "Yeah, so? He's got _guns_ – _I_don't have guns! What if he shoots me?"

Faraday sneered, snapping over his shoulder, "Booster, if you don't stop yapping and start fighting, _I'll _shoot you."

"Get in line."

"Hey, me first!"

"Can I do it?"

Booster's shoulders slumped at the resounding support he received from his teammates. Made him all warm and fuzzy inside. Seriously. "Well, jeez, thanks guys. Fine, I'll just fight..." His eyes wandered to that one greasy-looking guy in the black trenchcoat that hadn't done squat since this whole brawl started. He looked wimpy enough to take. "That guy over there." Mind set, he flew forward.

The next thing he knew, he was being hurled into ground by a force he couldn't see or feel. "H-hey," he spluttered, trying to regain control of his limbs, "what the..."

"Wimpy, huh?" Black ambled up to the rooted Booster and flashed him a jaundiced smile. "With a brain as loud as yours, mate, you're liable to wake the dead. Or join them."

"Hey, man, this is _not cool_," he objected, fighting against whatever hold this creepy dude had on him, to no effect. "How am I supposed to fight you when I'm stuck like this?"

"Kinda the point, innit?" Black snickered, lifting his hand up. So followed Booster's body, hovering in the air, completely powerless to defend himself as the long-faced Brit brandished a revolver. Okay, bad time to find out that he was armed.

Booster was so intent on thinking of a way out, and Black was so distracted by how obnoxiously noisy his thinking was, that neither of them noticed Doctor Light until she fired; Black was sent careening into a wall. Booster began to say something charismatic _(or, lacking that, laced with a healthy amount of machismo)_, but the words were forever lost when the ground rushed up to meet him very little pomp and circumstance.

The pavement was a tough crowd, apparently.

"Watch your step, sir."

Trying to save face, he sprang up immediately and pretended that he totally meant to do all of that. Booster Gold never went anywhere without a backup plan! ...Or a smart robot assistant who had all of that stored, so he didn't have to remember any of it himself. "Nice shooting there, Doc!" He grinned winningly at Light, who merely stared at him in open distaste. "Interested in a side-kick position? I could always use a strong female lead to offset my charming good nature."

"_Baka_," she hissed, turning on her heel and stalking away.

Yeah, she definitely bought it. "I'll take that as a maybe!"

* * *

Wonder Woman and Batman stormed into the well-equipped command center, built into the walls of the cavern. In the center of it was the pit Superman described, its obvious man-made nature sticking out like a sore thumb, along with a large machine built over top of it. Shaped like a skeletal pyramid, the contraption had what appeared to be a powerful laser mounted at the apex of the four symmetrical girders, aiming directly into the churning green fluids some yards below them. The entire room stank of acid.

"And so the cavalry finally arrives," Ra's Al Ghul's voice echoed through the chamber. Diana looked up, spotting the madman languidly descending a metal catwalk. A lazy smile hung on his lips. "It's been quite some time, Detective; I see it hasn't treated you as well as you'd hoped it would. Mortality is harshest to those who fight it the most bravely."

She quickly made note of her surroundings. There was a computer platform fairly close to the pit, likely the controls for Ra's portal. "You wouldn't know the first thing about bravery, Ra's," Batman said. "Hiding in caves, sending your lackeys to do all your heavy lifting – who do you think you're fooling?"

Ra's face darkened at the jab. "But I see your insolence remains as strong as it ever was. A poor habit that I wish to break you of."

Diana lifted herself from the floors, gaze hard and features set; regal, proud, and deadly. Every last bit the Amazon Princess. "You can't hope to win, your forces have been decimated and your plot to destroy Gotham has been stopped. Lay down your arms and surrender peacefully, or suffer the consequences."

Ra's inclined his head towards her as if he'd just noticed her presence. "Ah, Wonder Woman, I presume. I'm rather surprised the Detective allowed you to accompany him on this mission."

She took the slight to her equality far better than she would have in years' past, her lips curving into a small, dangerous smile. "Afraid that you'll be beaten by a woman?"

His eyebrow curved. "Spirited. I can see why you chose her over my beloved daughter, Detective." Batman gave no reaction. That seemed to disappoint Ra's slightly. "No matter, I have preparations to attend to."

She flew forward, fists bared. "Not if I have anything to say about it!"

Ra's raised one hand from the security of his heavy green cloak, a ball of white-hot electricity forming in front of his fingertips. "Believe me, my dear, you don't."

She screamed in pain as she was launched back the way she came, trails of smoke dangling in the air from her path. Foolish and short-sighted of her – Ra's had the Agimat, which meant Ra's had access to extremely powerful magic. She would not be caught so shamefully unprepared again.

"Diana!" She heard the quiet squeaking of leather and kevlar next to her as he knelt at her side. His glove ghosted over the swiftly healing skin of her collarbone on its way to grip her shoulder tightly.

Ra's examined the show of affection with aplomb. "Over my centuries of life, I have searched endlessly for ways to increase my longevity. While this necklace I liberated from the clutches of a corrupt and selfish organization won't add any years to my lifespan, it more than makes up for it in brute strength. I hope you approve."

Her eyes opened, rolling downward and catching Bruce's gaze. They then immediately locked onto their quarry with the ferocity of an angered panther. She rolled onto her feet, fists clenched at her side, and charged again. Batman threw a handful of Batarangs to cover her attack as he darted off; they were blocked by a wall of earth that sprang up from the ground.

She feigned a right hook. Ra's dodged, as she thought he would, and double-backed with an elbow to the head. He took the blow like he hadn't felt it, using her momentum against her to flip her over his shoulder. Diana landed on one leg while she snapped out the other, knocking his feet out from under him. Twisting, she caught him by the lapels of his jacket and moved to strike when she felt the ground beneath her feet suddenly melt into liquid. Gasping, she found herself thigh deep in quicksand before it instantly solidified back into its former state, rendering her immobile.

Ra's stared down at her with a self-assured grin. "It appears the Detective isn't the only one who needs a lesson in humility." His fist descended.

* * *

King Faraday dove behind a pillar to avoid another volley of Deathstroke's bullets. He hastily reloaded, crouched low to the ground and glancing hurriedly over his shoulder. "I'm surprised to see you here, Wilson. Run out of people to sell out?"

"The name is Deathstroke, Agent Faraday," the mercenary censured, one eye narrowed beneath his mask. "And I could say the same about you. How's the leg treating you?"

"Better than your eye, I see," Faraday retorted, breathing shallowly as he shifted his weight. "I thought you don't do freebies." He rolled around the corner, weapon drawn, and found himself staring at empty space.

He didn't have time to react when Deathstroke double-backed around the pillar, hooked an arm around his neck and pressed the barrel of a gun between his ribs. The man's voice was uncomfortably close to his ear as he answered, "Sometimes, the reward is in the act itself."

Both were knocked off of their feet by a high-pitched sonic scream. Faraday took advantage of the momentary confusion, slipping out of Deathstroke's hold and pinning him to the ground, gun against the base of his jaw. "You know what, Wilson? You're right," he huffed while grabbing a pair of specially-made cuffs designed for meta-humans. He nodded once at Black Canary in silent thanks for the assist. "This _is _rewarding."

* * *

Batman raced up the gangplank. He knew Diana was buying him time to shut down the machine, and he planned to make every borrowed second count. He was stopped midway to his goal by a kick to the side, staggering into the other side of the catwalk with a grunt of pain. "Infidel!"

Great. "I was wondering when you'd show up," he groaned as he looped his arm around the railing and regained his footing.

Ubu stood directly in front of him, blocking his path to the main computer console, rapier in his oversized hands. "You will not interfere with the Master's plan!"

He didn't have time for this. He hurled a Batarang directly at the lieutenant, blandly stating, "Duck."

Ubu deflected the projectile easily with his sword, snorting dismissively as he watched it ping harmlessly over the edge. "Hmph, did you think that would – " He turned his gaze forward and saw a fist flying towards his face.

He slumped to the ground, unconscious. Batman frowned down at him. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He stepped over the body, continuing on while the sounds of battle raged on behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, watching the earth shield shatter as Diana's body was flung through it. She rolled with the landing, springing back onto her feet to block the arc of a sword with her vambraces. Good, still holding her own.

He arrived at the mainframe, eyes scanning the controls in front of him. Going on the information streamed in front of him, along with the layout of the hub and machine itself, it looked as though Ra's choice for this little excursion of his wasn't entirely arbitrary.

He heard the cocking of a gun to his right. Sarah K. Dahluzett, still dressed primly in her lab coat, held the weapon with surprising familiarity as she ordered, "Step away from the controls."

He angled his head to glare at her, acquiescing to the command, cape coming to rest lazily around his frame. She was too close and the catwalk was too small for him to merely disarm her. He would have to throw her off balance. "I would have expected better from you, Doctor. Why this? Why Ra's Al Ghul?"

"Why not Ra's Al Ghul?" she replied. "He was the only one with the vision to see my ideas for their true potential."

"_And _he was the only one willing to fund you after the private sector caught wind of your failed stints with Powers Technology," he supplied evenly. Across the large room, Wonder Woman dove into Ra's from above, only to be forced away by plume of fire. He needed to speed this up.

"Those penny-pinching imbeciles wouldn't know revolutionary tech if it grew legs and kicked them!" She edged her way closer to the control panel. "My transdimensional generator will fundamentally change everything we know about the universe, and I plan on being right here when it happens."

And _there _was his opportunity. "Is that was Ra's told you? Or is that what you told yourself when you agreed to help him?"

She frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"What do you _think_ I'm talking about?" he questioned, hand going to his utility belt. "Surely, someone as brilliant as you didn't fail to notice just how Ra's treats women in this little club of his. Do you really think for one second that he's going to let you take the credit for any of this? You're a tool, Doctor – a means to his end. The moment that portal opens, your role in this scheme of his is over, and you'll be as good as dead." He smirked. "And then he'll get _all _the glory for himself."

She blinked behind her oval-shaped glasses, grip loosening on the gun. "You can't be – "

He threw a flash pellet.

Dahluzett cried out in pain, shielding her eyes with her hands and reeling back. He rushed forward, twisting her wrist and forcing her to the ground. "Tell me how to shut the machine down."

She struggled against him for a moment, but stopped when it was obvious she wasn't going anywhere. She craned her neck, staring at him out of the corner of her eye, glasses askew. "Y-you can't."

"All that time and effort, and you never added an off switch?" he rebuked, his hold tightening painfully. "I don't believe you."

She shook her head, threads of hair falling loose from her bun. "No, you don't understand – the generator is fully powered; it's wired into the reactor's systems."

"There _has_to be a shutdown sequence," he pressed forcefully, distantly noting the distorted echoes of Diana's cuffs scraping against stone. He wished he could see what was happening, but this was more important. "Tell me what it is!"

She gasped in pain at the added pressure, gritting her teeth. "I...it would take _days _for the generator to fully power down! It's too much to simply flip a switch! If you shut it down now, you'll be releasing all of that energy in one singular, uncontrolled burst."

"The blast radius – how large would it be?"

She went completely limp under him in resignation. "Nearly fifty miles."

Batman blinked in shock. "That would split the island in half!"

"Transdimensional generator prototypes don't work on your average AA-battery," Dahluzett quipped in a tight voice.

With a grimace of dissatisfaction, he secured her wrists in cuffs – tighter than he intended, given the squeak of pain she elicited, but he didn't really care – and stood. He turned to the mainframe, beginning to initiate the proper shutdown sequence even as his mind whirred. This effectively ruled out any chance of quick resolution in terms of the generator itself; it appeared that their only hope of ending this was...

His eyes flickered up from his work. His fingers froze.

Ra's Al Ghul held a battered and barely conscious Diana by the throat, arms bound and powers sealed by a thick band of steel, dangling her over the edge of the churning vat of green acid. "The restorative powers of the Lazarus Pit gives life to the dying, but will take the life of the healthy." He smiled. "I wonder...what would it do to an immortal like you?"

Ra's let go.

Her bracers were bound. She had no powers. She couldn't fly.

Batman leaped over the edge, the console forgotten, and dove down after her.

**_To be continued..._**

* * *

I'm a bitch, redux.


	23. 23 Cry Havoc

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

_No._

That was the singular word that was seared into Batman's mind as he plummeted through the rancid, hot air. No, he was _not_ going to let her die, he was _not _going to fail anyone else. He reached out, one hand securing itself around her wrist while the other readied and fired a grappling hook. He was stopped short when a bolt of lightning struck his exposed side, causing his vision to go white, then black.

He teetered on the edge of consciousness through sheer will alone, the world around him progressing in what felt like slow motion as he and Diana careened into another freefall. Only the barest measure of situational awareness allowed him to dig the built-in titanium claws of his glove into the pit wall, stopping their descent a mere twenty feet from the surface. Time reasserted itself rather violently with the tearing of his rotator cuff and the spraining, if not outright breakage, of his left wrist. At least he was fully awake, now.

His arms and shoulders quaked from the exertion, lungs burning from the toxic fumes while rivulets of sweat rolled down his brow. The charred mess that was now the left side of his ribcage pulsed in agony as he hung there, face scraping against the rough concrete, completely helpless against whatever reprisal Ra's had in mind.

But he didn't care. He had Diana.

**23.  
Cry Havoc  
**

Ra's lazily circled the large pit, eyes drawn to the sight of them both dangling from the wall itself. "Impressive. Even in the most grim of circumstances, you find a way to survive, much like myself."

Gritting in teeth and slowly lifting Diana closer to his waist, Batman hissed, "You and I are _nothing _alike, Ra's." More quietly, he ordered through shallow, pained gasps, "Princess, reach into my belt and grab my spare grapple. It's the – "

"Second pouch on the right," she finished, spare hand making surprisingly quick work of his notoriously difficult to open utility belt.

He glanced down at her confusedly. "How did you – ?"

"You're surprised?"

"We share more similarities than you think," Ra's crooned from high above, now standing opposite them. "We both are unwavering in our causes, and are willing to sacrifice that which we love most to see it protected."

"Like your daughter and granddaughter?" he shot back, feeling Diana remove the pneumatic grappling hook from its secured pouch.

"Yes. I suppose I have your allies to thank for their lives, along with the destruction of my compound," Ra's replied guardedly, brandishing his scimitar and aiming in their direction. Its polished blade began to crackle with electricity. "For that kindness, I will ensure that your death is a quick one."

"Now!" He released the wall and Diana fired. Ra's shot impacted where they'd been clinging to a split second before, sending bits of scorched concrete sprinkling over them as the hook wound itself around a ladder near the top of the pit. The moment they came with reach, Batman planted a boot down on a rung and shoved Diana against it. He took the grapple from her hand and released the current line, setting up a new one. "Find a way to get that off your wrists; I'll draw his fire."

Without waiting for a response, he fired the jumpline to an overhead catwalk, leaping off and hurling an explosive Batarang to distract Ra's. As expected, he took the bait, ignoring Wonder Woman completely. Once a misogynist, always a misogynist. Left to her own devices, Diana gaped down at the metal rod that was knotted tightly around her forearms – tightly enough that it didn't even budge when she slammed it against the rung nearly a dozen times. She ground her jaw, wishing she had access to acid or –

Her eyes fell to the Lazarus Pit, then to the steel corded around her wrists.

Well, mystical acid was still acid.

Across the room, the platform Batman crouched upon suddenly began to warp around him, groaning miserably as it was torn from the cables that anchored it. He bounded over the edge before the steel could crush him, landing in a roll. He had barely touched down before the ground rose up beneath his feet, throwing him off balance. He recovered and narrowly leapt out of a broken stalactite's way. Ra's slashed his sword into the ground, the spark creating a line of blue flame that hurtled towards him. Batman dodged to the side, taking a direct hit to the chest from a mid-sized boulder. He attempted to right himself, hands splayed out to springboard back up, when the earth ripped open under him. He skipped down the jagged terrain in an uncontrolled fall before slamming into the base some thirty feet down.

Ra's stood at the top of the small pit, bits of dislodged rock and dust bouncing lightly against his cape and cowl. He told himself to get up, but his body refused to comply; and to make matters worse, his left arm was beginning to go numb. He wasn't sure if that was due to the injuries he sustained, or if it was a precursor to a heart attack. He supposed it didn't matter – at this point, he could hardly afford either. "A commendable effort, Detective," Ra's voiced and lifted his arm up, the steel humming like a tuning fork as the cave ceiling above them both began to tremble and crack. "Yet still, not enough."

A golden lasso looped itself around the blade, ripping it from his fingers. Startled, Ra's Al Ghul whirled around to find his prized scimitar connect with the waiting hand of a floating Wonder Woman. She was not amused. "Ready for round two?"

_'Get up,' _his mind repeated sternly.

He pushed himself to his feet.

* * *

"**And where are you going?**"

Phantom Stranger halted mid-turn. "I wish to observe the situation more closely."

"**It's more than mere observation, isn't it...?**"

No response.

"**You're forbidden from interfering, Phantom Stranger...**" The Spectre reminded him harshly. "**You know this.**"

"I do."

"**Then why entertain a futile gesture?**"

Stranger paused to reply, before his lips twitched into the slightest of grins. He disappeared through a portal, replying, "Don't ask."

* * *

Checkmate may have been down for the count, Faraday thought, but Eiling was anything but. He'd already badly injured Doctor Light, who they had transported away, and was proving to be more than a handful for the rest of the League squad down here. He wondered if he was going to have to call in that standing order to the nearby Air Force base to drop whatever non-radioactive payload they had directly on their heads. He wasn't a big fan of the thought, but Faraday didn't live this long by taking stupid gambles. If these guys couldn't swing it, they'd have to resort to more conventional weaponry. He had a job to do, after all.

Eiling sailed into the continually battered wall via the business end of Steel's mighty hammer. While slumped down, Steel pressed the advantage, raising his mallet high over his head to deliver another blow. Shortly before it made contact, Eiling stopped the weapon dead in its tracks with one massive paw, yanking forward and brutally headbutting the hero as he rose to his feet. Dazed, Steel didn't fight back as Eiling grabbed his arm and flung him headlong into a charging Booster Gold, before turning with a startling amount of fluidity and pitching Steel's hammer like a throwing axe towards Barda.

Teeth bared, she easily deflected the hundred-pound metal hammer into the ceiling with her Mega-Rod, continuing forward to fire a blast at point-blank range. He swatted the rod up and away, the discharge turning the concrete above them into a charred crater as he twisted around to put her in a sleeper hold. She planted her feet along the damaged wall and pushed out with all her might. He stumbled backward, unable to maintain his grip on her long enough to block the double-fisted blow she drove onto the top of his skull.

He dropped to the ground, then proceeded to roll, foot landing squarely in Barda's midsection and sending her flying. Lantern swooped in to assist, forcing a clamp around his waist in virtually the same tactic as before. This time, though, Eiling was ready, using his spined elbows to turn the pavement below him into dust. With nothing for the clamp to embed itself in, he shoved it away and rolled to his feet, just in time to cross his arms over his face to block a powerful sonic scream. Cement crumbled under his boots as he dug in, slowly being pushed back toward a large pillar. As soon as she stopped to take a breath, Eiling struck out, snapping it free of its moorings and hurling the giant chunk of stone in her direction. She immediately screamed to try and break it apart in its flight, eyes going wide when it continued to merrily pirouette toward her unabated.

Faraday dove, rolling them both out of harm's way with only a hair's breadth to spare. Fair was fair; at least they were even, now.

Eiling marched forward, undaunted. "The Justice League won't stop me from doing my duty to the American people."

Steel clenched his fists, wishing his weapon wasn't lying in a bent-up mess halfway across the room. "Last I checked, that doesn't including dropping a bomb on them."

He held his head proudly, as though he were performing a great service. "They're giving their lives for their country – like all citizens should be willing to do."

Canary muttered, "Somebody bother telling them that?"

He let his fist fly, demolishing another nearby pillar as he walked. "It doesn't matter. No one tells me what my country can or can't do to keep itself safe from menaces like you – " He was cut off by the small _fwip _of a dart jabbing into the back of his right shoulder. Confusedly, he plucked the tiny metal object from his skin and let it roll in his oversized palm, then turned and raised his beady yellow eyes to its shooter.

"As of right now, sir," began General Rick Flagg, staring at him over the barrel of a tranquilizer gun, "the only menace I see here is you."

Eiling seemed surprised. Even disappointed. "I never thought you would have turned on me."

Flagg's expression remained stalwart. "With all due respect, General, a manilla folder of unverified origins with a handful of dates and a few racy photos isn't what I call definitive proof for a nuclear response."

Eiling's eyes darkened. "So. A traitor, then. You really think something like _this _can stop me?" He crushed the dart in his fingers, tossing it to the ground. "No tranquilizer exists that...can..." Eiling trailed off abruptly, body going stiff. Haltingly, he gaped down at his suddenly quaking hands. "W-what...is..."

"Checkmate was created to be an anti-meta assault squad – we've been trained and debriefed to take down _all _potential metahuman threats," Flagg explained evenly, weapon still trained on the seizing monstrosity. "That includes you. Sir."

Eiling stumbled forward, breathing labored and clutching at his morphing chest. He glared up, eyes still a crazed, cloudy gold, and lunged. "You – !"

Lantern wrapped the man's body in an impromptu net, holding him back even as Eiling struggled to crush Flagg's throat with his hand. Flagg, for his part, seemed to be taking the attempt on his life completely in stride. Ever the soldier. "I wouldn't move more than necessary – the reversion may be a bit uncomfortable."

Eiling let out a pained roar and tried once more to claw out Flagg's eyes, only to sag against the net with an extended groan of pain after a moment's exertion. His body disappeared into the folds of clothing that now hung from his quickly shrinking frame, falling unconscious with a whimper.

Booster stared at the sickly creature trapped in GL's construct, before turning his attention to Flagg. "Man, you cooked up a way to take down your own _boss_? That's pretty cold. Even for you guys."

"The serum wasn't one of ours," Flagg admitted as Lantern receded the net, letting Faraday close in to cuff the fugitive. "It was a donation from a concerned citizen."

Faraday, having secured Eiling, looked up with a frown. "If you had it on you all this time, why did you wait until now to use it?"

Flagg regarded him with a raised brow. "Waste not, want not, Special Agent. We could've been the good guys."

* * *

It occurred to Tim, as he sat in the bowels of a big baddie's underground citadel, hurriedly trying to hack a computer's files to save the world while Superman and the Martian Manhunter were covering his back – _them_! Covering _his _back! – that this was the single most awesome moment of his entire life. So, why was he having to fight back a constant churning nausea over the whole thing?

Something giggled in the recesses of his mind. One of them was a mind reader, they could learn what he did...if they didn't already know. And then what would they say, hm? They wouldn't be so quick to piddle-paddle around with _his _sort, would they? Heh. Funny.

He stopped typing suddenly, eyes clenched shut. No. Not now. _Not now_.

Superman glanced over his shoulder, standing in the corridor and essentially playing the big blue indestructible decoy while J'onn went about taking down most of their ranks. "Find something?"

Tim opened his eyes blearily, trying to reinsert his mind back into reality the way one would plug something into a power outlet. Surprisingly enough, he looked upon the screen and realized he _did _find something. Lucky him. "Maybe." He examined the screen. "There's some kind of signal coming from the complex; I don't know what for, yet."

"How about the jamming frequency?" Superman asked as he clapped his hands together, sending off a shockwave of air that knocked the newest troupe that tried charging him back down the hall in a mass of flailing limbs and weaponry.

"Working on it. This thing seems tied to it." He tapped another couple of keys. "The signal's being sent to a satellite, and then being piggybacked onto a bunch of other satellite networks for transference."

"Do you have any idea what it is?" Superman caught the shell of a Howitzer in his hand, grimacing as it exploded in a massive plume of smoke. He wiped the debris from his hand idly; did they really think this was going to do anything to him?

Tim accessed the datastream successfully, but instead of being given information as he was expecting, he was rewarded with an unintelligible mass of jibberish. It didn't look like any sort of code or algorithm he'd ever seen before – and he'd been trained by Batman, so he was pretty confident he'd seen pretty much all of it. "Nothing good."

* * *

Batman reached the top of the pit with more effort than he would've liked to admit, briefly watching Diana parry a decapitating blow and counter with a fist to Ra's face. A strike like that should've taken his head clean off. Instead, he shrugged it off, creating an impenetrable pillar of fire that forced her to retreat momentarily. They seemed evenly matched, which spoke to the terrible power that the Agimat possessed. He charged forward, peppering Ra's position with smoke pellets while he tried to regroup.

The man lifted a hand to shield himself from the smoke, before seeming to remember his new-found capabilities. Batman noted the potential exploit. "Parlor tricks will do you no good here," Ra's admonished, waving his hand and parting the rolling slate clouds like he was halving a stick of butter. "For all your skill and courage, you are but a man."

"And what does that make you, Ra's? A god?"

"No." Ra's lifted his chin, a jaundiced sort of nobility in his voice. "But my mission makes me the herald of one."

"I've _met _heralds of the Gods before," Diana riposted coolly. "You're nothing close."

"You think you're a messiah?" Batman added, shrugging his cape over himself. "You barely even qualify as a leader."

Ra's expression tightened in anger. Good. "My network stretches across the globe, and has done so since before your ancestors even first stepped foot in your beloved city."

"Is that why you had to ask an outsider to build your portal?" Diana goaded.

"Don't kid yourself, Ra's," Batman continued where she left off. "Your _network _is in shambles, and you know it. Your men are nothing more than lemmings now, aren't they? You've brainwashed them so thoroughly that the moment you die, this entire operation will fall apart. All that work, all those centuries on your side, and what have you accomplished with it? Nothing."

"Some immortal."

"Some messiah."

The Demon's Head's lips twisted into a snarl, grip on his sabre tightening with a squeak of leather. "Silence!" He charged forward, blade leaving a trail of flame in its wake as he swung. Batman sidestepped the arc easily as Ra's wheeled, fist clenched, and...nothing. He blinked, looking perplexed as to why he hadn't immolated anyone the way he'd wished to.

Batman flashed a dangerous little smile, holding his hand up.

The Agimat dangled from his fingers.

Ra's gawked at the pendant in shock, offering no resistance as Diana's golden lasso wrapped around his shoulders and wrenched him off of his feet. She towered over him, powerful and commanding. Batman secretly found it sexy as hell. "You have a great deal to answer for."

Ra's countenance brightened inexplicably. "As do you."

Warning bells went off in both of their heads. Batman immediately began to dissect all the information available to him. "What do you mean?"

Ra's remained silent. Diana tugged slightly. "Answer his question." On cue, the cord began to glow a fierce gold, the man's forehead beading with sweat as he attempted to fight the compulsion to obey. "The more you resist, the more painful it becomes for you."

"Pain is momentary," Ra's grated out through clenched teeth, "I've lived through far worse than this."

The sharp heel of Diana's red boot found itself lodged between Ra's shoulder-blades as she yanked on the rope. Hard. "I can fix that."

Batman's eyes narrowed, looking back up to the portal console. "He's stalling." He stalked off towards the terminal.

"For what?"

"Dahluzett said that it would take days for the generator to power down," he declared as he hurried up the rickety gangplank. "Reactors like these are meant to generate energy, _not_ store it. That means the energy is coming from somewhere _right now_."

"Quite astute, Detective, it is indeed coming from somewhere, at this very moment." The lasso around his shoulders dimmed significantly, giving in to its persuasive effects. His voice was as rich and dark as the green velvet cloak he wore. "No doubt you've already learned of the vaccine I administered to my men."

* * *

Tim blinked when the signal abruptly ended, snatching his hands back from the keyboard in confusion. "...It stopped."

"Is that a good thing?" Superman asked, before he saw the uniformed soldiers coming towards him suddenly double over – in unison. They curled in on themselves, writhing along the ground in unbearable pain.

Tim stood at the mouth of the doorway, taken aback. "What's happening to them?"

Superman reached down and pulled off one of the soldier's masks. He then proceeded to take a step back, expression contorted in revulsion. "My god."

_"That 'vaccine' was, in fact, a highly lethal, fast-acting form of my contagion that was designed to remain dormant until a specific high-frequency transmission was used as a catalyst – it will do in seconds what would take the ordinary solution _days_."_

The man's pallor went from a healthy tan, to gray and then black in moments; his skin shrank, tugging itself over the skeletal framework, like he were being burned alive from the inside out. It was one of the most grotesque things Clark had ever been unfortunate enough to witness. He glanced up to J'onn imploringly. "Is there anything...?"

"This is the final stage of Leopard Fever. There is nothing we can do for them." J'onn's features were pinched with remorse. "Any of them."

_"As soon as you announced your presence in the compound, I ensured that signal was sent, via satellite uplink, to every last operative under my employ."_

Clark gazed down at the crowd of men all dying in profound agony, unused to the feeling of powerlessness that settled into his bones. They were there to _prevent_ atrocities like these. Criminals or not, they were still people. No one deserved to die; not like _this_.

_"Though I _had _wished to offer Hades ten million souls, I suppose three million will do just as well."_

Superman squared his shoulders. There would be justice. "Come on."

* * *

Batman stared across the expansive command center in disgust. "You murdered your own men."

"Sacrificed, Detective. For a worthy cause." The subdued Ra's Al Ghul smiled. "Even _lemmings _have their uses."

Diana, angered at the madman's confession, lifted him from his feet with one hand, a dangerous gleam in her eye. "You _will_ pay for your crimes,_ in full_."

He wheezed from the superpowerful fist pressing against his larynx, but otherwise remained unimpressed by her display of superior strength. "What you do to me makes no difference – my plan is unfolding as we speak." From the corner of her eye, she spotted Superman, J'onn, and a black-garbed figure that bore strikingly little resemblance to the Tim Drake she knew from four years ago rush through the ruined doors. "If I am to pay for my crimes, then so shall everyone else."

Wonder Woman heard the whirring of the device powering up and turned her head in alarm. "The portal!"

"I know!" Batman shouted, working furiously at the control panel to halt the procedure. When that failed, he unsheathed a Batarang and stabbed it six inches deep into the console, hiding behind his cape to avoid the flare of electricity. In spite of the console's damage, a pearl of energy began building up at the generator's apex. "It's activating!"

Hades. Diana dropped Ra's to the ground and charged the pyramid structure, Kal at her heels, as whorls of light and matter all streamed in otherworldly patterns around that growing ball of matter. It took them both all of a second to cross the room in order to destroy the device.

The generator needed half of that.

* * *

In the depths of the Juragua nuclear power plant, an incandescent particle beam sliced through the air and connected with a boiling Lazarus Pit, creating a chain-reaction that reverberated throughout the entire Lazarus network in the form of an earthquake felt the world over.

James Gordon took shelter under the Fortress' computer as icy stalactites came crashing down all around him.

Catwoman looked up from the knife-wielding would-be murderer she had under her boot heel and readily abandoned him, bodily shoving the hapless brunette victim out of the way of a falling stone gargoyle. She rolled, shielding the woman's body with her own as they huddled in the doorway of an abandoned rowhome.

Lois Lane stumbled to the carpeted floor, quickly ducking beneath a nearby work desk. She shakily grabbed a piece of scrap paper that fluttered next to her foot, pulled out a spare pen, and began writing as clearly as she could.

Shayera heard the console beep wildly and moved to inspect it even as she heard Oracle's frenetic explanation blaring over the speakers. _"I'm reading _massive_ geothermal and seismic activity all around the world!"_ The sound of crashing was loud in the background. _"Including here!"_

She saw the holographic display of the Earth turn predominately orange and red, and immediately switched frequencies. "John, what's going on down there?"

_"You tell me!"_ he shouted over the line, also rife with sounds of wide-spread destruction. _"Eiling's down, we__ – " _A harsh crackling ended the transmission prematurely.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. "John!"

* * *

The explosion rocked the cavern. Chunks of stone fell from seven stories up, decimating the networks of catwalks and wiring in a shower of sparks as they plunged, while rifts in the ground tore themselves open in a chaotic zigzag.

One such crack made a beeline for Ra's; he scrambled, unsuccessfully, to get out of the way, before he plummeted into the crevasse. He'd only begun to scream when the golden line around his torso was snapped taut, halting his descent. He peered over his shoulder to dimly identify the young masked figure that hung over the jagged edge, lasso clasped tightly in his hands. "So, your early retirement hasn't dulled your reflexes as much as I'd thought."

A startled gasp exited his mouth as he lurched down another five feet. The Detective's youngest pupil smiled wanly. "Sorry. Slipped."

Wonder Woman and Superman were forced back; Batman was knocked from the catwalk entirely, and was only saved from certain death by a timely intervention from J'onn. He floated them both to the sandy cave floor, gently maneuvering the vigilante to stand under his own power. "You're injured."

He heard the grunt of pain Batman tried to hide. "Tell me something I don't know."

An ominous rumble echoed through the badly damaged command center, frighteningly similar to an oncoming train. Wonder Woman squinted as she righted herself, disliking the large, amorphous silhouette that rose through the swirling green electrical cloud that inundated the pit. "What is that?"

"My dear," crooned a deep and powerful voice that sent a chill down her spine as a familiar figure emerged from the haze. Hades touched down lightly on the edge of the pit and graced her with a smile. "Don't you recognize your father?"

The proverbial train arrived at its station in an explosion of winged demons.

* * *

From the new fissures created by the world-wide quake spewed monstrosities from the Underworld, blackening the skies with their wings and chilling the blood of anyone that heard their unholy screams. As a full-fledged panic began to erupt in the already-crazed streets of Gotham City, Selina Kyle backed away from the brunette she had just saved and looked skyward. Her next words were fittingly succinct: "Oh, hell."

_**To be continued...**_


	24. 24 On a Pale Horse

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

When Shayera was first sent on her mission to scout out Earth's forces, she'd made a point of researching everything she could about it. Her superiors had amassed a fair amount of intel for her to go through during her month-long trip through the cosmos, and had been watching the planet with interest for years, they'd said. That should have made her wonder just how long they'd been drawing up plans for the Hyperspace Bypass, but at the time, she was watching her people die daily, and didn't really care about those kinds of details. Like everything she did, she tackled it with gusto. Of course, she'd read about their technological capabilities first, but once she got a scope of how primitive and weak they were compared to Thanagarians, she'd moved onto different annals.

In particular, she recalled being intensely fascinated by their theologies, and how those beliefs shaped the various cultures that dotted Earth's landscape. Humans, for all their faults and assertions to the contrary, were a deeply spiritual people; far more so than Thanagarians ever were. At times, it was something she envied; in others, she considered using it to her advantage, if it was required to quell the populace. She occasionally wondered if humanity reacted so badly to her deception because it called certain things into question for far too many. Disillusionment carried a hefty price.

Years later, staring at the unsteady image of the sky being consumed by the horned silhouettes of otherworldly demons, Shayera knew this wasn't any ordinary world-shattering cataclysm that seemed to frequent Earth so often. Zombies, robots, and aliens were the product of science-fiction and horror – entertainment gone awry. Plagues, demons, gods rising from the depths of imprisonment? It would strike a chord, one strung low and carefully hidden by many, that would turn this world upside down in _seconds_.

To the citizens of Earth, she understood with a sinking feeling in her gut, this was more than just the end of the world. This was an _apocalypse_.

**24.  
On a Pale Horse  
**

Shayera all but stabbed the comm button. "Green Lantern, can you read me?" Her heartbeat sounded too loud in the ensuing silence. "John, come in!" Nothing. She hurriedly worked at the terminal, replacing an image of Gotham's skyline being consumed by demons with a 3D satellite mock-up of the northeast Atlantic coast. Seconds she knew to be too precious to waste passed as the image zoomed in once, twice, three times, the area continually obscured by a dense fog of smoke and ash. Growing irritated and impatient, she zoomed in a fourth time.

The defunct fallout shelter turned command base, along with the gently sloping hillside it had been built under to hide, had disappeared into the depths of a newly-formed chasm. Her chest felt just like that demolished ridge.

Her gaze caught the images of another flickering screen, jumping from city to city as the insanity unfolded. Shayera closed her eyes and inhaled.

When they opened again, there was a steeliness in them that hadn't been present since the days of the Thanagarian occupation. She pressed down on the comm button again. "Attention all Leaguers, prepare for emergency teleport; coordinates are being sent via your comm-link now." She switched frequencies, continuing, "Mr. Terrific, put the stragglers on those monsters attacking the cities. Find whoever you can – I don't care if they're just some kid in a Halloween mask, get them up and fighting. The rest of us will be working to evacuate the area and stop Hades."

_"Hades?" _Mr. Terrific repeated. _"I thought gods were a myth."  
_  
She briefly scanned the bustling room, almost expecting to see a blue fedora somewhere. She ignored the hint of disappointment when she didn't. "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Terrific. Trust me. Shayera out."

She was halfway to the transport pad when she heard Talia question, "Do you believe your combined forces will be able to stop a god?"

Thinking of Rex, of the only home she had left, Shayera replied without turning, "No. But we have to try, anyway."

She disappeared in a haze of light.

* * *

It was startling how quickly they were subdued. Even Superman found himself overwhelmed by the seemingly endless number of monsters that spewed from the newly-created portal, forced to the ground as the others were held in place for their master to deal with them properly.

Hades, Lord of the Underworld stepped down from the rim of the pit, his boot thudding heavily against the stone floor. A lazy grin hung from his lips. "My daughter, it's always a pleasure seeing you again."

Wonder Woman, arms held behind her, glared darkly at the god. "I am _not _your daughter."

"We will discuss that in due time, my dear." He regarded the group of restrained mortals curiously. "I must admit, I'm impressed; opening a doorway to the Underworld is quite the feat."

Ra's Al Ghul, closely guarded and still bound by the unbreakable lasso, adulated, "I had hoped one of your innumerably powerful stature would appreciate the effort on your behalf."

Hades turned in his direction. "On my behalf? How _altruistic _of you, mortal." He strolled forward casually. "I suppose it is you I have to thank for my freedom?"

Ra's nodded. "Indeed. I spent many years researching and carefully planning your escape, and have given you an offering of several million souls in the hope that I may make a request of you."

Hades briefly inspected him. "Go on."

Ra's stared up at the god with as much dignity as he could muster from his half-bent position. "In your many eons of life, I am certain that you've seen humanity's steady decline. They are now little better than a pestilence on this world, and must be stopped so the Earth can recover from its wounds and become the fertile utopia it once was."

"Utopia?" Hades paused in contemplation, then broke out into a hearty laugh. The sound of it was nothing short of chilling. "Ah, mortal," he drawled amusedly, shaking his head, "if only you knew how _ridiculous _you sound."

Ra's paled slightly.

His smile grew dark, towering over the kneeling Society leader. He lifted his broadsword. "Request denied."

The god's arm was wrenched to the side unexpectedly by a beam of energy, sizzling briefly from the heat before it healed. He whirled, eyes befalling Captain Atom and several members of the Justice League pouring through the cavern entrance, shortly before he found himself staring at a snarling Amazon's fist.

To say all hell broke loose after that point would be redundant.

* * *

The Flash's world, at the moment of Shayera's call to arms, was one of doubles and unfocused swirling blobs of color. He felt the tissue and cells of his arms continually battle the disease's advance, infecting, dying, and being recreated to start the cycle all over again in nanoseconds. He halfheartedly wondered if he'd inadvertently turned himself into a dynamo in doing this, but, well, it was a little too late for second guesses now, wasn't it? The only thing he knew with clarity was that this sucked and he didn't like it.

He was too busy gazing off at one of the three left walls that mysteriously sprung up in the last few minutes to see the gloved hand turn off the machine. It was only the sound of it dying down that spurred him enough to bother trying to find out what was going on around him. He squinted, blearily focusing on a fully suited Nightwing staring down at him. Wally's eyes widened. "H-hey, what are you – "

"Time's up, speedster. Duty calls," Nightwing said, a quiet little grin on his face.

"But, what about..."

"This?" Nighty pulled his glove off and rolled his sleeve back. The thick bands of black death that had ringed his forearms were now down to speckles, like he'd been painting with a little bit too much fervor and forgot to dress accordingly. He wiggled his disease-free fingers once for effect before slipping the gauntlet back on. "Looks like I owe you one."

Flash huffed weakly. "Heh, buy me some doughnuts and we'll call it even."

"I'll buy you a doughnut _factory_, if you want."

Wally's stomach gurgled with anticipation. "Will they make jelly-filled?"

Dick's grin widened. "Nothing but." He nudged the speedster's shoulder. "Come on, we've got some bad guys to stop."

* * *

At the base of the newly-created crevasse that once was a section of the Appalachian Mountains, a pile of stone and soil pitched and rolled away, revealing a dozen dirty and battered survivors. Booster Gold rubbed his head wearily. "Man, that was not a fun ride. I want a refund."

Retracting the bubble he'd protected everyone else with, Green Lantern immediately moved to activate his communicator. "Green Lantern to Watchtower, come in." He frowned at the lack of response – not that he expected anything different, at this point.

Skeets buzzed, "The electromagnetic readings I'm getting are off the charts, sir. It's likely that it's interfering with communications."

"Great." He dropped his hand. "I guess I'll try another method, then."

* * *

A few thousand miles away, J'onn battled a swarm of demons, twisting bonelessly around their strikes. The voice that echoed in his head nearly startled him into the business end of an axe. _'J'onn, what just happened?'_

He went incorporeal as one attempted to stab him with a broadsword, letting the blade pass harmlessly through his body and impale two more that were directly behind him. _'Ra's Al Ghul has succeeded – Hades is free.'_

He wasn't sure if John meant to send the string of expletives his way or not, but it wasn't worth dwelling over. _'We're on our way.'_

Crushing the demon's neck in his grip, he hurled the trio away as others made contact, pinning him against the jagged rock face. Still greatly weakened, he struggled against the inhuman might of the creatures that piled onto him, when the echo of Shayera's fearsome warcry gave him an idea. Eyes glowing a deep crimson, he forced majestic white wings to unfurl from beneath the confines of his cloak. As he'd hoped, the mob of demons immediately shrank back, hissing in terror.

J'onn smirked grimly, charging forward.

Below, Wonder Woman retrieved her lasso from around Ra's Al Ghul's shoulders with a simple warning: "Make any attempt to escape, and bloodthirsty demons will be nothing compared to me."

She launched herself into the fray as Ra's dusted himself off in her wake with a slightly amused tilt of his lips. "Hell hath no fury, indeed."

The ground trembled as Superman sailed through the cave ceiling, emerging in a sub-basement level corridor of the complex proper. Shaking himself free of debris, he stood and caught Hades' fist in one hand, striking with his other. The god staggered backwards, surprise registering on his features as he rolled his jaw. "Stronger than even Heracles, this one." He tipped his head at the Kryptonian in what could have been appreciation, smiling thinly. "You will make an excellent addition to my ranks."

"I've heard _that _one before." Superman ducked another punch, leaping back to avoid him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Have you ever been denied freedom, mortal? Locked to a realm of darkness for all of eternity?" Without warning, Hades vanished from Superman's sight – all various forms of it. The punch against his gut caught him unawares, sending him through yet another set of ceilings. He vaguely recognized the power plant's courtyard area as he was halted midair by the same invisible force.

Hades faded back into existence, holding him aloft; the sharp edge of a sword was pressed against his neck. "I want to be free, mortal." That he could actually _feel_ the blade digging into his flesh set alarm bells wailing in his head. Hades was a creature of magic, or something similar – something far beyond what the yellow sun could protect him against. "I _will _be free."

A cord whistled through the air and snapped taut.

Hades was yanked down, away from the Man of Steel, by a golden cord wrapped around his neck. "The only place you're going is back to is the depths of Tartarus, Hades."

The god righted himself, fingers curling under the unbreakable twine and tugging it off. He appraised the two floating in front of him, noting how his minions were already pouring from the egress he'd created during his battle with this _Superman_, and shook his head in disappointment. "I do so wish that it hadn't come to this, my daughter. I'd wanted you to join my side willingly." His tongue became serpentine, eyes glowing a faint, baleful red. "But even you, like all of your mortal ilk, fall under _my_ domain." He brandished his broadsword. "I think, my dear, it's time that I show you to your _ancestral home_."

* * *

Catwoman rounded the corner into the alleyway, swinging away from one of the creatures in pursuit. It slammed headfirst into a fire escape with enough force to knock the entire thing loose from its moorings, and for all the damage done, it now only seemed to be pissed off at her. Wonderful. She barely dodged the downstrike of its two-handed axe, stepping on the shaft of the weapon to gracefully connect the heel of her boot against its jaw. She bounded backwards when another axehead cleaved the previous in two, panting lightly as more demons, hissing and red-eyed, descended from the sky to land along windowsills and ledges imposingly. In any other circumstance, she would have taken the obvious choice and bolted.

She loosed her whip and held her ground, wondering if Bruce would be either proud of her, or angry in that equally pigheaded and adorably overprotective way of his that she was risking _her_ life for _his _city. "This is what I get for playing the hero."

The demon twisted its malformed head along its spined shoulders and harshly yanked the axe from the ground with a hollow scraping of metal on stone, running forward in an uneven, wobbling gait. The chopper whistled through the air in a precise downward arc, only to be pulled from the monster's grip before it made contact. Grunting, it only had time to halt its advance in confusion before it was torn from its feet by..._something_; she couldn't tell what. The creature landed in an unconscious heap amid its brethren as the telltale whirring of Batarangs rang through the air, sinking into their leathery flesh with unerring accuracy. They shrieked in pain as the force returned, knocking away more in an incredible gust of wind.

Selina looked skyward, mood brightening at the familiar, if heavily armored, pointy-eared silhouette that loomed above. "I was wondering when you'd get here. It's not like you to leave a girl to defend herself."

"It's not like you to be a damsel in distress, either," replied the figure as he leapt from the ledge, landing next to her with a grace that was every bit as feline as her. The sleek black headpiece folded back and sank into the neckplate, revealing the suit's current owner.

She blinked. Well, this was unexpected. "If it isn't the Man Wonder," she remarked idly, giving his get-up a once over. "Nice suit; no cape?"

Nightwing shrugged. "I know this isn't my usual style, but you know what they say: if the prototype super-suit fits, wear it." He smiled winningly at her. "And I hate capes."

She smirked. He was a sweet kid; it was nice to be on the same side as him, for once. "I know what you mean."

The wind slowed long enough for her to catch a blur of a bright red suit. The Flash? "Says you," he groused. "Why can't I have a super-suit?"

"Well, if you're really good, maybe Santa will get you one for Christmas." Nightwing nodded briefly in her direction. "So – care if we lend a hand?"

Catwoman turned her attention to the legion of monsters invading Gotham and cracked her whip once for effect. Proud. Bruce would definitely be proud. "Sure thing, Man Wonder. Let's see what you've got."

The helm slid from its confines, armoring Nightwing's head again as he dropped into a fighting stance. "With pleasure."

* * *

Batman was in a bind. He'd exhausted nearly all of the tools in his utility belt, and was now relying on the _kind donations _of the hellish creatures around him to stay alive. More annoyingly, his injuries were preventing him from doing much more than merely holding his own. With the world at stake, that wasn't good enough. His mind worked even as he ducked under the prongs of a trident, grabbing its shaft and leveraging it to throw the monster off balance. Ignoring the fire that sprang along his side, he pivoted and jammed the weapon into its chest. This situation wasn't sustainable; they couldn't defeat an army that had, literally, an endless number of troops to throw at them. They couldn't beat a foe that couldn't tire.

He heard the screeching too late, his movements unacceptably sluggish as he saw the pike come careening down towards his head. Idiot.

Scant centimeters from killing him, the weapon was knocked off course. A second later, a blur of black collided into the eight foot tall monstrosity, sending in to the ground in a heap of leathery wings and pointed spines. Tim crouched over the body, retractable metal bo in hand. "Long time, no see."

Instinct took over before his conscious mind fully grasped just who was standing in front of him, turning around to protect Tim's flank. Inexplicably, he commented over his shoulder, "Nice staff."

"Thanks." He heard the hollow cracking of bone being pulverized by titanium. "It was a going away present from Alfred."

He snapped a monster's neck with a quick twist of the head. "_Alfred _gave that to you?"

"Why not? I've always been asking for one."

He ducked a claw swipe from another demon, surging upward to break its arm. Tim wheeled around, finishing it off with a harsh swat to the head. He hunched over slightly, breathing heavily. This was definitely not sustainable, in any respect.

Tim frowned in confusion, if not concern. "You look like crap."

"I keep hearing that," he replied tightly, hand pressed against his pulsing ribs.

"Hades has reached the surface!" J'onn shouted in warning. "Superman and Wonder Woman will need our assistance!"

"On it! Everyone, move!" Shayera hastily dispatched the creature she was tangling with, folding her wings back and shooting through the air – and several more demons that weren't quick enough to get out of her way. J'onn more fluidly maneuvered around them, fading through the ceiling. All the other heroes capable of flying or teleporting followed or were carried away. Even the monsters, both the ones that had already arrived and the reinforcements that continually streamed through the portal, took to the sky – scurrying to aid their master.

He stared up at the retreating figures, briefly hating his humanity. Flight was too good of an advantage to not utilize, somehow. It was for the best, though; with the fight taking place on the surface, it freed him to close the portal down here. Now, he only needed to find out how. His focus turned back to Ra's, who was still fighting as though he could worm his way out of his own mortality again. Maybe he didn't realize the situation he was in.

Batman decided to remind him.

* * *

Talia leaned on the Watchtower console, grinding her molars. She wanted to stop her father before his deranged actions caused irreparable damage, but it appeared that her intervention came far too late. Beloved had been right, as usual – she should not have played any part in Father's plan. She should have come to him for help. She had to set things right, somehow. She _had _to.

The elevator doors opened behind her. Surprised that much of anyone beyond the skeleton crew was left on the satellite, she pivoted. Her eyes fell upon one ever composed, but grimly determined Alfred Pennyworth; an infant was nestled safely in the crook of his left elbow. She decided to forgo asking. "Alfred."

He gave her a tiny nod of recognition, seemingly out of rote more than courtesy, as his attention was clearly directed at the command center they stood in. "Miss Talia. I heard Madam Shayera's command a few moments ago, has she – ?"

"Departed," she confirmed. "To battle Hades."

The elder man grimaced slightly; a strange sight, for him. Then, his gaze snapped up to hers. The intensity of his scrutiny reminded her sharply of beloved when he was scheming. "You've stated before that you wish to help stop your father from this catastrophe. Does that still hold true now?"

"Yes."

He stepped forward, holding out a small ring. "Then take this. It will be of use to you."

She knitted her brows. "What will this do?"

"My ancient Hebrew is a bit rusty," he explained, placing the ring in her hand, "but if I've translated this engraving properly, then I do believe this may be the fabled Seal of Solomon."

"Rumored to have control over demons and the undead," Talia murmured, staring at the band resting in her palm. "I recall my father searching for this item many years ago, without success. How did you come across this?"

"It was a...gift from an old friend." He motioned to the transporter controls. "You must hurry. If the reports being displayed are anywhere near accurate – "

"I'll make my way at once." In spite of this, she remained still as a stray memory of Milan rose unbidden in her mind. Knowing there might never be another chance, she turned back around and said, "Beloved once confided in me that he would not have survived this long if it weren't for your aid. He respects your word above all else, and would end this – all of this – if only you asked him to."

Alfred's brief hesitance in reply was proof enough of her statement's impact. "I know, madam."

"Then why do you allow him to continue?"

He inhaled, slowly. "Because denying him the opportunity to help others would be too cruel an injustice for him to endure." He motioned to the transport console. "Go, madam. Quickly."

She nodded briskly, heading for the teleporter without further delay. Alfred watched her go with no small measure of worry, wondering if he hadn't made a terribly dreadful mistake.

"She will not betray your Master," suddenly said the young woman that stood off to the side, expression blank. "My grandfather has threatened too many that my mother cares for to show him mercy, now. She enters the fight with vengeance in her heart."

"That," he answered, all too aware of the tiny infant cradled in his arm, "is what I'm most afraid of."

* * *

Ra's thought he was faring rather well, given that he was several centuries old and outmatched in every capacity but for sheer tactical prowess – but that was all he was doing. He couldn't escape into the fray without dying, and he'd liquidated his entire institution simply getting to this point; restructuring would take more time than he could afford to buy from the Lazarus Pits. Hades disregarded his offer, but there could still be a way to foster the seeds for regrowth after his reign of terror had ended. He needed to survive to do that, though, and the fiend in front of him was making that a problem.

He parried the arc of a sword with his own, blue sparks flying; the demon moved with a swiftness and brutality he knew he couldn't match. If only he'd still had the Agimat, he could have brought this brute to his knees! He parried again, the inhuman power of the strike reverberating through his limbs painfully and causing him to falter backwards. The red-eyed monstrosity sensed his weakness and rushed forward to finish its job, when the Detective, of all people, mysteriously appeared in front of him to block the blow. Breathing room established, Ra's was free to flank the miserable creature and end its life with a blade to its chest. "Your assistance is obliged, Dete – "

Ra's sword clattered to the ground as Batman wheeled around, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and bodily shoved him into the nearby cave wall. The vigilante's expression was nothing short of murderous. "Don't thank me yet. The _only _reason I saved you is because you might know something we don't. Tell me how to close the portal." He pressed harder against Ra's throat. "Now!"

Ra's struggled to allow more airflow in, but was met with his captor's hold tightening further. "There...is no way to close it. It will remain open for as long as the energy sustains itself, which will last for days."

"If it can be _opened_, it can be _closed_," he insisted sharply. "Tell me how!"

"He doesn't know." The Dark Knight looked to the left, spotting a figure in a blue fedora and cape calmly walking towards them. "He also doesn't know the full ramifications of his actions."

"Like releasing a God bent on killing everyone?" Tim commented idly.

"Worse." Phantom Stranger nodded to the thin beam of energy that flashed chaotically with energy. "The barrier separating the realms of the dead and living was never meant to be broken. While Ra's Al Ghul's machine remains operational, the breach will remain open. However, that machine is also the only thing keeping the breach stable. Removal of that stabilizing force will cause the rift to widen, and likely shatter the barrier between worlds altogether, obliterating this one in the process."

"A catch-22," Batman said, slowly lowering Ra's to the ground without seeming to realize that he was doing so. "There has to be a way to stop it."

"Whatever could be done to reverse the damage may only hasten it," the Stranger replied.

"That doesn't mean we give up!" Tim exclaimed. "So what if this barrier was never _meant _to be broken? Well, it broke. Now we have to fix it."

"Spoken like a child," Ra's chastised with a shake of his head. "Some damage can never be adequately repaired – those scars will remain forever, immune to the effects of time."

"Guess that explains why you're still here, then."

Ra's snarled. "_Insolent _– "

Bruce's focus, strangely, turned inward at the sound of R – Tim's voice. How long had it been since they'd stood in the same room – since he could even stand the thought of it? How much time had he wasted, hunkering in a corner and licking his wounds, pretending that nothing existed but his own shame? He glanced at his former protege, still short with an unruly mop of hair, still rebellious and mouthy, still _alive_, and was struck by an epiphany. The world was still here. Tim, Dick, Alfred, Clark, Diana, all of them, they were still _here; _maybe not well, but definitely alive – and, right now, they needed him.

...Almost as much as he needed them.

The conscious admission could have been enough to bowl him over. As it was, his grip on Ra's went slack. "You're right. Some damage _can't _ever be repaired."

Tim's eyes went wide with incredulity. "What? You can't – "

He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder reassuringly, and in spite of himself, in spite of everything, he smiled faintly. It had been too long. "But that doesn't mean we should give up." He turned to the Stranger. "What do we need to do?"

Phantom Stranger shook his head. "Unfortunately, I can offer no advice. The inherent volatility of magic can be difficult to predict under the best of circumstances; mixing magics even more so. The same action can produce a thousand results, all wildly different, many of them extremely deadly."

Tim stared at the demi-god flatly. "How about a hint?"

Batman's expression lit up suddenly. "He just gave us one."

_**To be continued...**_


	25. 25 Dies Irae

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Superman and Wonder Woman battled valiantly; they used their abilities in tandem, playing off of the other's individual strengths and styles in a near-symbiotic fashion. Had their opponent been anything but the Lord of the Underworld, they would have fallen easily. Diana blocked Hades' broadsword with her vambrace, twisting to grab his arm and pull him into Superman's waiting fist. The god sailed through the air as they continued their assault, Wonder Woman looping her lasso around his wrist while Superman's eyes glowed a fierce red. It was a perfectly executed maneuver.

Hades tugged on the unbreakable cord, wrenching Diana to him – and directly into Superman's line of fire.

She screamed as the full brunt of Kal El's heat vision connected with her unprotected back, going limp as Hades steadied her in a nauseatingly paternal gesture. He mused, "You know, like this, you remind me of your mother."

Diana slammed the back of her head into his mouth.

Snarling, he hurled her toward the ground. "Wench!"

From across the battlefield, Shayera watched Superman fly down after her, and more alarmingly, caught how Hades smiled and followed suit. She knew where her friends were weak, and she knew all too well how those weaknesses could be exploited. She wouldn't let that happen again. She charged through a wall of wings and fangs, felling the army between her and him as Hades readied his sword, poised to impale the Man of Steel through the back. She threw her mace with unerring accuracy, knocking the weapon out of his grasp a few feet from its intended target. Incensed by the interruption, Hades glanced up in time to see a shrieking Thanagarian barrel into him.

She struck repeatedly, right cross after uppercut after haymaker. She managed to move him approximately three inches before Hades lashed an arm out, swatting her aside like a gnat. She righted herself, wings flared out, as the Lord of the Underworld glared, broadsword reappearing in his hand with a pale green fizzle. Sparing no words, he launched himself downward. With a warcry, she launched herself upwards.

She stood no chance. But if she could buy Clark and Diana time, if they could stop Hades and save her son, then it would have been worth it.

**25.  
Dies Irae  
**

A split-second before they collided, a demon slammed into Hades, sending him off course. She halted her ascent as she watched him fumble in amazement at the sudden attack, before grabbing it by a horn and hurling it into the distance. "Wretched creature!" No sooner had that monster been dispatched before another took its place, and then another, and another still. So it continued, even as he killed his aggressors, more would replace them.

Shayera flew to check on her allies below who, by this point, also noticed the sudden shift in the army's behavior. They stared skyward as the minions piled onto the dark god from all angles. "I didn't think demons could stage a mutiny," Superman stated.

"They can't," Diana replied with a grunt of pain as she pulled herself free of Clark's grip, eyes narrowed in distrust. "They're bound to the will of Hades; no demon is strong enough to resist his orders."

"Not all demons are alike," came a slow, rumbling voice. A single demon descended to their level, stilted in its movements. Its malformed jaw worked with clear unfamiliarity as it spoke words that were not its own, words halted and hardly recognizable. "I have controlled the _creeeeatures_ that have been released here, and have sent them to attack their _looord_. Go – take this time to stop my _faaaather_."

Superman scrutinized the creature. "'Father'? You mean _Talia _is controlling you?"

The demon didn't acknowledge his question, slanted red eyes flickering briefly, as if blinking. Its message sent, it darted upwards with a roar, leaving them behind to be slaughtered for its new master. Kal surveyed the grounds, spotting her with her hand upraised, glowing ring upon her finger. "I don't know how she's doing this, but – "

_"Batman to all points – start evacuating the surrounding area."_

Shayera blinked at the request. "I already have League members – "

_"Get _everyone _on it – now."_

Diana stared skyward at the chaos made manifest, asking, "And what about Hades?"

_"He's not our biggest problem anymore."_ As if sensing her incoming argument, he added, _"The portal is destabilizing; if it isn't closed now, the Earth is as good as gone. We need every able-bodied person we can get on the surface, preparing to contain as much of the damage as possible. I don't know what sealing it will do, so be ready for the worst. Batman out."_

Shayera swore under her breath, muttering, "This just keeps getting better and better."

Diana clenched her fists as League members retreated from the battlefield. Her eyes were flint. "I'll make sure Hades stays distracted."

Superman recognized the tone; he'd heard it often enough from his own voice during the height of the Cadmus fiasco. He opened his mouth to reason with her, but stopped short when he watched her charge forward. "Diana, wait!"

"No, let her go," Shayera interrupted quickly, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. _(Such was his strength of will that he actually stopped without inadvertently tearing her arm off.) _"Those things aren't going to keep him busy for long – Batman will need cover, and so will we."

He knew she was right, but the idealist in him – sometimes, the only thing that kept him going – took intense issue with anyone taking on a mission they had no real chance of surviving; he didn't want anyone giving their lives if there was a way that he could save them. Shayera's grip tightened slightly, her expression soft with a strange kind of sadness. "Trust me, Clark, Diana needs to be here – for herself and for Bruce." She smirked faintly. "Call it 'Mother's Intuition'."

His eyes turned from the Thanagarian to the Amazon, and was reminded of when Batman torpedoed the Watchtower directly into the Hyperspace Bypass while behind the wheel of it. After the dust had settled, he'd mentioned how insane of an idea that was, and asked if he was actively trying to kill himself. Bruce, in reply, simply flashed him a quirky little grin and glibly stated, "It's not a suicide mission until you die."

Clark vividly remembered not being sure if he wanted to punch him or hug him. It only occurred to him later, after Hawkgirl had resigned and reconstruction of the new Watchtower had begun, what the words meant: it wasn't a suicide mission until they died – Bruce's way of saying, 'There's always hope.'

"There's always hope," Superman said, even as Wonder Woman drove into the dark god with a thunderous force. "Let's go."

* * *

Batman walked toward the pit-turned-gateway while Tim happily handcuffed Ra's, asking, "So, what's the plan?"

His knee twinged in phantom pain. "Suture."

"Suture?"

"When a person is stabbed, removing the knife prematurely is the worst thing you can do – ignoring everything else, it's still staunching the blood flow, buying the victim time. Dahluzett's device is doing the same thing with the portal."

Tim surmised, "So, you're going to sew the wound up. With what?"

"This." He held up the Agimat. "If I can substitute the generator's energy source with this one, I might be able to reverse the effect and seal the portal."

"You would be ill-advised to use it," Ra's cautioned sternly. "Though I've no doubt of your willpower, such is the strength of the Agimat that the magical forces trapped within it would tear you to pieces."

"I'll make do." His focus shifted to Tim, ordering, "Get Dahluzett to safety, then coordinate with the League forces on the ground and help with the evacuation effort."

"Got it." He raced up the warped and badly damaged gangplank, kneeling at the side of the barely conscious scientist. "Come on, up and at'em."

She stirred as he lifted her from the ground, wriggling weakly in his grasp. "No, get off me – my generator! My work!"

"Seriously, lady," he griped as he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, "let it go."

Batman waited for his former protege to exit the cavern before he turned to the passively silent demigod. "Stranger. I need a favor." The Stranger inclined his head to listen. "Get them away from as far away from here as you can." He nodded to the figure behind him. "Ra's, too."

Ra's stepped forward. "Someone must stay to ensure that the portal is properly shut off at the correct time, or else your gambit will fail."

He regarded the man with open hostility. "You _caused _all of this, and now you're saying you want to help me stop it?"

"My intent was to save Earth, not destroy it," Ra's replied factually. "If reparations are to be made, then it is my duty to make them, here and now, while there's still a chance."

Batman's distrust only heightened at the supposed honesty, glancing at the Stranger. His silent question was answered with, "He's being genuine."

Stranger's words did not alleviate his distrust in the slightest, but a nigh-omniscient creature from another realm of existence had advantages he didn't. With effort, he yanked the leash on his temper and strode forward, removing the cuffs from the Society leader's wrists. Sighing in relief, Ra's rubbed at one with his hand, before that wrist was caught in an iron-wrought grip. Their eyes met. "Don't even _think _of double-crossing me."

"If I'd truly wanted you dead, Detective, I'd have had you killed in your sleep years ago." As if to sell the point, Ra's smirked.

Stars exploded, and Ra's hit the ground with a pronounced _thud_, holding his jaw protectively. Batman stood over him, a looming silhouette, and rubbed his fist idly. In the distance, Stranger asked, "Was that necessary?"

"Absolutely." He looked over his shoulder. "Will you do it?"

Stranger nodded dutifully. "They'll come to no harm, so long as you're successful here. Good luck." He bowed his head, then faded from sight.

Ra's, having scrabbled to his feet, stared at the Dark Knight in morbid fascination as he stepped onto the pit's ledge. "Getting the boy out of the way was wise, but sending off the most powerful ally in your arsenal to do so was overzealous."

"It wasn't about getting him out of the way." He gazed into the churning miasma below, remembering those first nights after Tim was recovered. It almost killed him. It did worse than kill him. "I won't let him get hurt again. I can't."

"Your 'Stranger' friend may well be the only one capable of retrieving you," Ra's stated. "Without him, how do you expect to escape the collapse of the portal itself?"

He thought of his loved ones – of how much they had sacrificed for him, and he for them. He suddenly wanted to thank them for all they had done, for the dozens of times they had saved his life by simply being in it. He knew it was impossible _(and hypocritical – he recalled the saying about atheists and foxholes)_, but he let that impossibility strengthen his resolve to succeed. It wasn't a suicide mission until you died.

Besides, he'd spent the past four years in a living hell. The real thing couldn't possibly be worse. "I don't."

He dove in.

* * *

In a world beyond worlds, the Spectre frowned at the scene playing out before him, and vanished.

* * *

Hades was becoming increasingly irritated. His treacherous minions swarmed around him like gnats, doing no harm but being a continual nuisance, while Diana was busy making herself one very fast and angry nuisance that was gleefully taking advantage of the distraction in any way that she could. He wished he could say the damage she was unloading was due to his demon army's bothersome influence, but he had to admit that while she was no member of the Pantheon, Diana had quite well proven her champion status. After all, she was still alive.

Frankly, Hades was quite vexed by it all, but not due to her defiance; it was his realization upon the eighth straight blocked attack that he was actually _pleased _by her display. Now was not the time for some inkling of fatherly pride to rear its ugly head. Still, what kind of father would he be if he didn't give his daughter her proper due?

"Exemplary performance, my dear," he complimented, cutting a vast swath of his minions down with a single arc of his blade. It was testament to how many of the creatures he'd culled in the past few minutes that the gaping hole in their ranks didn't fill. He was impressed that Diana was able to withstand the power behind the swing as she halted it with a silver vambrace. Her mother certainly trained her well – well enough to almost be a threat to him. "You're quite the formidable opponent."

Still, withstanding was not the same as repelling, evidenced by the scowl of exertion that crossed her features after the blow landed. Judging by the venom in her voice, she noted this, as well. "Your words are meaningless, Hades."

"I speak the truth. I've been longing to see how you've matured since our first encounter all those years ago," he responded smoothly, parrying the heel palm strike aimed towards his head with his sword arm. In the same motion, he gripped her by the crook of the elbow with his spare hand and spun her around in his grasp, pinning her arms between her back and his plated torso. She screamed as the claws that were once again aiming towards his body sunk into hers, instead. "It's a shame to see you wasting your talents like this, though."

She tried headbutting him again. This time, he ducked his head to the side, pressing his lips near her ear in a close whisper. "Why do you fight for them? You could conquer this entire world for your own."

"Never. It would go against everything I ever stood for." He didn't miss just how sharp her features became.

"What _do_ you stand for?" he asked her as he maneuvered around to prevent his minions from flanking him. They hissed angrily at his strategic movements, backing away in an attempt to regroup. "Look at them below, scurrying like vermin – killing each other indiscriminately out of greed, pleasure, and apathy. Even the _good _among their kind are weak and ineffectual against the might of their more craven ilk."

"You know nothing of Man's World, Hades," she seethed as she shifted in his grasp, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle free.

"I know more than you realize, my dear. Lest you forget, I am the Lord of the _Underworld_, not merely Tartarus. All will pass through my gates eventually, but _you_..." He paused, humming. "Well, since you seem so _enamored _with these mortals, I'll strike a bargain."

She scoffed. "With _you_? Save your breath."

"Hear me out before dismissing my proposal," he chided her lightly. "Regardless of your intervention, all the denizens of your so-called 'Man's World' will perish at some point. It's only a matter of _when_. I could strike them all down now, _or_..." His lips tugged back into a jagged grin. "I could spare their lives – in exchange for yours." He ducked around another headbutt attempt. "If you refuse, I'll simply kill you and slaughter everyone else afterward, starting with your closest allies."

She snarled. "You would never keep your word."

"I _always _keep my word," he reprimanded immediately. "Mortals merely forget to be specific."

Diana remained silent, stoic and unyielding. Nauseatingly moral and stubborn, like all of her kin, but he couldn't hold that against her. She didn't know any better. "On one condition."

He almost grinned; foolish woman. "Yes?"

Her gaze was distant, her breathing shallow. "You will personally see my soul safely to the Underworld." Her dark blue eyes flickered in his direction. "If you're truly my father, you'll do this for me."

He considered her briefly. Hers was a sad tale – an immortal among mortals, perhaps, but compared to the power he and his torpid siblings in Olympus wielded, her life was as fragile and fleeting as the middling little creatures she was forfeiting her life to protect. He supposed for a champion of the Gods, for his daughter, he could grant this one singular request.

"You have my word." Hades pushed her away, brandished his sword, and ran her through.

* * *

Batman was engulfed by the putrid mist of the portal, ignoring the way it burned at every patch of exposed skin. The clouds peeled back suddenly, the whistling of stale air ringing in his ears as his eyes struggled to adjust to the extreme contrast of light and dark. He knew what was waiting for him on the other side would have been none too pleasant, but he hadn't been expecting this.

Instead of the fiery pits of everlasting torment that Diana and Shayera described in their little day-trip to Tartarus, he was greeted by a verdant swamp landscape that stretched on into forever, cut in half by a bloated river. It may have even been somewhat tranquil, if not for the massive, violent whirlpool that churned the otherwise stagnant waters of the Styx. He grabbed his jumpline – the last remaining item in his belt, save for the Agimat itself – and aimed for a low-hanging stalactite.

A scream from behind caught his attention, and before he could look over his shoulder, he felt the collision rattle through his limbs as a demon slammed into his midsection. It wound its arms around his torso in a crushing grip, veering him towards the ground in a nosedive. Awkwardly, he twisted and struck the monster in the face, first with his fist, and then with his elbow. It snarled and tried to bite his arms off, but had no effect on their course, otherwise. As the canopy rushed ever closer, he hurriedly jammed his grapple into the nook of one of the demon's horns and fired. The line snapped taut, and the demon's head jerked back with an audible crack.

He shot forward into a free-fall, grabbing the edges of his frayed cape in both hands and praying that it would be enough to control his landing somewhat. Branches and twigs were ripped from their trunks in his descent, his already-damaged cape being torn to pieces in his grasp as he was pitched into the dirt. Even with his training, there was only so much kinetic energy he could mitigate with proper technique; by the time he rolled to a halt some sixty feet away, he'd given up all pretense of fighting gravity and had simply gone limp.

Batman laid on his back, staring blankly through the too-still canopy to the dead rock above, and tried to remember how to move. He pressed his fingers against the pouch that held the Agimat, relieved when he felt it still in its confines – still had a job to do. With a groan of misery, he rolled onto his side, his arm clasped protectively around his ribs as he shakily stood. He half-crouched, half-hobbled to the treeline, quickly scouting the area for more party-crashers while he heard the wailing echo of Cerberus in the distance. That was _not _a creature he wanted to tangle with unprepared; this entire sojourn was much more suited for the likes of – "Diana?"

The figure that caught his attention walked idly along the riverbank, gaze focused on the vortex above with clear worry. He strode forward without thought. She wasn't supposed to be here. "Diana!"

She looked at him in shock. "Bruce?" Her expression tightened in regret. "Oh Hera, Bruce, why are you here?"

"Me? Why are _you_here?" he continued angrily as he closed the distance. "I told you and the others to help evacuate the area! Why did you come through the portal?"

"I didn't."

He scowled. "What do you – "

Batman's mind – his razor-sharp, callously indifferent mind – registered her words and actions efficiently and without emotion, drawing a clear line from A, to B, to C without halting for his own benefit.

What Batman's razor-sharp and callously indifferent mind didn't anticipate was a suddenly desperate and frantic Bruce all but shoving the Bat out of way as the connection was made, firmly grasping the reigns for himself. "No." His hands found her shoulders roughly, willed them to be there, be solid, be _alive_. "_No_."

Her face was still pinched in remorse, lightly clasping his wrists as she glanced skyward again. "Hurry, you have to hide." She tugged at his arms – her grip was so _weak_– and hurriedly ordered, "Go! Hades will be here soon – he'll kill you if he sees you!"

He didn't move, had absolutely no intention of it. "I'm not going _anywhere_."

"Bruce, you stubborn man, _listen_ to me," she growled. "If you die here today, Man's World dies with you, and my sacrifice will have been for nothing." Her jaw rolling in determination and fury, she authoritatively motioned to the trees with her head. "Into the trees. _Now_!"

He blinked, reality encroaching upon in him as his mind _(heart?)_ continued to scream that he could fix this, he could save her, there had to be a way, he just needed to find it, just needed time. She was right; too many were depending on him to succeed only to falter now. He wouldn't let them down. He would _not _let Diana's death be in vain. There would be vengeance.

Bruce's grip tightened. No. There would be justice.

He pulled her forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Her fingertips ghosted down his cheek – they were cool against his skin, no no _no_– and it was all he could do to break the contact after a painfully brief few heartbeats. She exhaled quietly, hand still resting against his face, and stated with a heart-breaking earnestness, "I love you."

His gloved fingers curled around her too-cold ones and gently pulled them away. It was like tearing off his own arm. "You shouldn't."

Diana smiled sadly. She motioned again to the treeline. "Go."

His hands dropped to his sides and stepped away, his tattered capes still managing to shroud his form as he stepped away. He nodded to her once, a final farewell, and disappeared into the underbrush.

* * *

Death was an odd experience. Diana felt virtually no different than she did previously – the only marker that she was, in fact, dead was her lack of powers. Was this how ordinary humans felt in their normal day to day lives? She briefly glanced back to the swamp as she continued up the shoreline. Was this how Bruce felt? This..._vulnerable_? Gods, the strength of will he had to –

"Ah, there you are, my dear." The booming, thunderous voice stopped her cold; odd that she didn't feel her skin crawling the way it did previously. Hades landed a pace in front of her, smug grin stretching his features. "Are you ready for your trip? Do you need an extra moment or two to prepare?"

Diana marched rigidly up the riverbank, past the smugly preening God. She had to draw Hades as far away from Batman as she could. "Let's get this over with."

"So wrathful," he crooned. "Need I remind you that _you _were the one who requested my company?"

"I requested that you adhere to a single honorable tradition, _not _your company," she corrected as the rickety boat holding Charon floated casually toward their positions. She felt no fear at its arrival; immortal or not, she had expected this would happen one day.

"Never the less, it's my company you have," Hades answered, still smiling as he waved off the ferryman's silent request for the customary fare. "I suggest you get used to your new surroundings, Diana. You'll be here for quite some time."

Wonder Woman proudly stepped into the dingy, never breaking eye contact. Even in death, she would not be cowed into submission. "Should you break your word, Hades, there will be dire consequences. Justice can never be escaped, not even by a God."

"How very impious of you," Hades replied darkly, gesturing for Charon to disembark. Dutifully, the blue creature pressed its rotted ore into the shoreline and shoved off. "In this forsaken realm, my dear, I _am _justice, and you will learn not to question my interpretation of it." His grin turned wicked, true to his very core. "Fear not, though; you won't be the only baffled newcomer yet."

Diana stiffened. She _knew _it. "You said – "

"I _said _that I would spare their lives in exchange for yours," Hades interjected. "I never said for how long."

She launched to her feet, determined to dive off the boat and into the deadly river waters, the consequences be damned. Her journey ended abruptly when Charon's gnarled hand dug into her shoulder and forcibly dragged her back down to her knees. Hades chuckled at her display, his betrayal complete, as the realm of the living disappeared in a blinding flash of white.

* * *

Hades sighed wistfully as his daughter disappeared into the mists of the dead. She would be a tough one to break, just like her mother, but he had all of eternity to teach her the error of her ways. Eventually, like all the others who came before him, they would see reason. But for now – his retribution. He strolled forward casually, listening to the distant cries of damned souls on both sides of the portal, and smiled brightly. Today would be a beautiful day.

"**Hades, Lord of the Underworld...**"

Even by his standards, the timbre and weight the voice carried was full of hatred and spite. His interest was, quite frankly, piqued. He glanced to his left and found the owner standing silently amidst the trees. It took him a few moments to recognize just who was daring to encroach upon his territory. "Oh, it's you." He cocked an eyebrow. "A little out of your _jurisdiction_, aren't you?"

His voice was a low, baleful growl. "**You have made a bargain... One that you now seek to break.**"

"And you wish to – what? Keep me in check?" Hades crossed his arms, equally amused and annoyed at the creature in front of him. "Even the Pantheon couldn't do that, except to lock me in this cesspit. What do _you _expect to do here, today? Stop me?"

"No. _I _do."

Hades turned on his heel. Batman stood at the riverbed, dangling a glinting pendant from an outstretched arm. His eyes widened, feeling the raw chaotic energy that emanated from the amulet. "No!"

Batman let go.

The second the Agimat made contact with the churning, super-charged waters of the Styx, a violent electrical current danced over the surface of the whirlpool. The sparks of magic and uncontrolled power intensified exponentially as the pendant was sucked into the current, sending a powerful surge of blue energy up the thin tether keeping the two realms connected. Cerberus howled in discontent as the entire cavern began to rumble ominously – the precursor to a terrible earthquake.

Hades gaped forlornly at the sickly swirling clouds warped and began imploding on itself. "The portal! What have you done?"

Batman's glare never wavered from him. "Magics don't mix."

His eyes blazed red with fury and locked onto the piddling little _worm_ who sought to betray him. Enraged, he shot forward in the blink of an eye, latching a hand to its miserable throat and lifting it far overhead. "You wish to _entrap_ me, mortal?! Then _YOU _will be my prize!"

Bruce, feeling what little strength he had left failing him as his larynx was steadily being crushed by the unbreakable grip of an irate deity, almost smiled. No regrets.

There was a flash of light, a whiff of ozone, and he found himself five yards away, on the ground and hacking up what remained of his lungs while struggling to breathe. Blearily, he gaped through watery eyes to see Hades sailing in the opposite direction, an almost comical trail of smoke being left in his wake. It took him a shameful two seconds to focus his eyes on the objects that hovered bravely nearby. It took him three more to muster up the power to speak. "Stranger...? What..."

Stranger turned to his companion. Oh god, _Diana_? Was she... "The agreement has been rendered forfeit, your life and powers have been returned. Take him."

Diana circled around the demigod and knelt at his side, slipping her arms underneath him. He could've cried; she was warm. She looked at their savior, radiant and _alive_. "What about you? I thought you were forbidden – "

Stranger glanced over his shoulder as he strode forward purposefully. "Don't worry about me. Go – quickly! Before the portal closes!"

Wonder Woman watched on as Phantom Stranger's attire shredded into nothing, revealing a creature of pure light. He – it – intercepted Hades with a thundering crash, pushing the God back into the ground and holding him there. Her heart swelled in admiration; whoever or _whatever _he was deserved to be exalted among his brethren in the Elysian Fields when his time ended. Such bravery deserved nothing less. She gathered Batman into her arms and soared through the rapidly collapsing portal.

"Wretched, meddling _insect_!" Hades bellowed at the being, struggling to connect a blow with it. "You dare to strike a God?!"

Stranger's voice reverberated throughout the halls of the dead with a startling conviction and strength. "_You are no God, betrayer. You will receive no absolution._"

Spectre observed the scene with vague interest. It seemed that Phantom Stranger had finally found his breaking point – and it only took six millennia, at that. "**Nor will you, Stranger... **_**Your**_** judgment is soon to come. But you already knew that, didn't you...?**" He tilted his head in a tiny gesture of respect. "**In that case, I grant you...**" He peered skyward, through the violent torrent of energies. He had one last stop to make. "**Mercy.**"

* * *

Over a hundred miles away, holding a defunct tanker filled with thousands of people overhead, Superman was the first to hear the explosion. His head shot up as he spied the barest crack of dawn over the rim of the world over his shoulder, trying to discern if the explosion was the portal closing, or the Earth's immanent collapse. Either way, he needed to be there.

He landed upon the shores of Key West, Florida, placing the rusted rig upon the balmy shores with as much grace as possible, before breaking the sound barrier to return to the scene. "Superman to all channels – I just heard a massive underground explosion."

_"I'm en route to do damage control."_

A hundred-and-fifty miles away, Shayera's heart leapt into her throat at the voice, her eyes stinging and throat tightening. He was still alive. Even so, her mind detached and assessed the situation; when she replied, her voice was strong and clear. "Understood. John, try and contain as much of the blast as you can with your ring – Superman, you worry about northern coastline. J'onn, Stargirl, Vibe, and Ice, get the southern coast. The rest of you..." She paused briefly as she felt the first tremors beneath her striped yellow boots, signaling the backlash Batman mentioned. "Buckle up, 'cause we're gonna be in for a really bumpy ride."

* * *

Ra's felt the earth roll beneath his feet again, and immediately braced himself against a nearby wall. He had held up his end of the bargain and initiated the shutdown sequence of the generator when it appeared that the Detective had been successful. He still wasn't entirely sure if that was the case, but the power surge that traveled through the energy conduit certainly _seemed _like an important happenstance, and considering how quickly the condition of the command center was deteriorating, he could hardly afford to wait for a more verifiable signal. While it was heroic of the Detective to be so willing to give his life on a slim hope, he hadn't survived six-hundred years by throwing himself upon every sword that promised redemption. He certainly wasn't about to start now.

The earth rolled again, this time above him; the light fixtures of the secret emergency exit rattled like diamonds in an expensive chandelier. He quickly climbed the ladder at the end of the narrow passage, the hollow clinking of metal playing accompaniment to his shallow breathing. He vividly recalled the good doctor's omens about shutting off the generator at the apex of its energy storage, and the consequence of such foolishness. With luck, the closing of the portal would act as a means of absorbing much of the blast, allowing for the area to survive largely unscathed – and, more importantly, allowing for him to rebuild a network and find a successor capable of carrying on his work. There was still time. There was always time.

He slid the top hatch back and slipped into the final hallway that stood between himself and freedom, the stench of burning metal hanging in the humid night air.

"**Ra's Al Ghul...**"

Ra's stopped mid-motion, one foot still resting on the top rung of the ladder. His blue eyes darted around the darkened corridor, expecting _(fearing?) _to spot the Detective's sinister white eyes peering back at him. He found nothing. He exhaled quietly, standing fully and distractedly brushing his sleeves off. Even Batman could not have escaped –

"_**Ra's Al Ghul...**_"

He wheeled around, teeth bared at the terrible, disembodied voice. "Who's there?" he challenged. "Show yourself immediately!"

"**As you wish...**"

A being dislodged itself from the ever-present shadows that spilled like the bloodstains of millions across the wall, the darkness lingering on his frayed green cape as though it couldn't bear to be parted with him. Ra's' mouth went dry as the thing began to slowly glide towards him, the hallway twisting into the maws of oblivion. Its pale yellow eyes were cold as it grated out in that soul-scarring baritone, "**You have escaped me for generations... Plotted and schemed to avoid the fate that you have justly brought upon yourself... No more.**" The monster's eyes brightened, glowing fiercely, as it raised a hand – the brandishing of a scythe. "**Your time of judgment has come!**"

He backed into the wall, heart seized in terror at this creature, this spectre of death. He did not come this far to fail now, he did not sacrifice everything to be felled for nothing...!

The vision dissolved. The corridor was as it had been before.

Ra's blinked. Blinked again. He then sagged against the wall, breathing a deep sigh of relief. It appeared that opening a portal to the realm of the damned had let out more that he had been anticipating. It was a mistake he would not repeat. Wiping his brow, he continued through the passage with all due haste, shoving open the exit doors.

The night air was heavy against his skin, as were the shadows that clung to the many trees that surrounded the hidden egress. On impulse, he quickly closed the doors behind him, feeling his heartbeat slow at the reassuring sound of thick metal clanking together. He turned back around, jumping at the figure that hadn't been there seconds before. The instinct to run was quelled once he recognized who it was that stood before him. "Ah," he smiled, holding out his hands, "my beloved daughter."

Her eyes, blue as his, were devoid of any emotion but _vengeance_.

Two hulking monstrosities swooped down from above and landed heavily to his left and right. Talia's lips did not move as they said for their Master, "Goodbye – "

" – _Father_."

Ra's pained screams echoed for miles.

The Spectre, lurking in the shadows, smiled darkly and faded away.

* * *

Superman saw the tsunami ripple away from the landmass of Cuba..._without _making use of his own enhanced eyesight. The destruction it would cause would be immense if it wasn't stopped. He set his jaw. "J'onn, is your team ready?"

_"We're assembled."_

"Good, because it's coming your way now," he answered, intercepting the endlessly long wall of seawater that frothed angrily in the distance. Shortly before he made contact with the massive wave, he veered to a parallel and blew a gust of air from between his lips. The wall of seawater hardened into monolithic shards of ice that curled over the rest of the Carribbean like a sweetly sparkling guillotine.

Along the southern coast, the four Leaguers remained spread out over a length of two miles. As their own tsunami hurtled ever closer, they enacted their own method of curbing its deadly force: J'onn cleverly shapeshifted into a form that would cut through the wave and break its momentum. Stargirl used her staff to redirect one portion of the wave to crash into another. Vibe, carried on the back of the Shining Knight's prized pegasus Victory, focused his mind on the sea floor and forced it roll upward for a brief moment, creating a smaller counter-tsunami to halt the behemoth's tracks. Ice, lacking Superman's flight and speed, resorted to erecting walls of frost to slow the tsunami's pace.

On the mainland, Green Lantern hovered over the imploding Juragua nuclear facility, firing a luminescent barrier from his ring to surround the entire installation. His mind's eye, so deeply immersed with keeping his concentration, could see the way the earth sank into itself – the way the remaining wildlife frantically scrabbled against the impenetrable wall he erected. He ignored it, ignored everything but the rattling of his every nerve while the force of the explosion steadily rose upward against his will, the weight of the ocean against a styrofoam cup. As his world went white, John believed he finally understood how J'onn felt as his mind and body both buckled under the strain of containing the equivalent of a thermonuclear explosion.

In the choking haze, Diana curled her body around Batman as a final, spiteful blast of searing heat engulfed them both. She had already given her life once for the man; she wasn't afraid to do so again.

The refugees and citizens corralled into the port city silently watched the sky light up too brightly for the dawn it should have been. One small child, too young to understand how close she had come to death, pointed and murmured excitedly, "Fireworks, mama!"

"_Shush_, Maria," the mother, Carmen Famosa, hissed, taking a careful peek at one stoically quiet Shayera Hol. Though she may have been far removed from the hustle and bustle of world politics, she knew of the story between the winged woman and the man responsible for turning much of those 'fireworks' green...and felt her pain. She prayed for Rodrigo's safety, or, at least, his safe entrance into God's kingdom.

The populace of the world felt another faint tremor run under their collective feet as Ra's Al Ghul's portal to the Underworld resealed itself in a brilliant flash of light, the remaining demons screaming in terror at the sight and fleeing into the skyline. Catwoman, bleeding and clutching at her injured arm, smiled brightly at their sudden retreat. For once, she had no snappy comment to make, simply basking in the warm glow of a hard-won victory. No wonder these heroes did this stuff so much.

Nightwing halted, the titanium-plated cowl retracting with the slightest tick of his jaw muscles. "Looks like they did it again," he praised, eyes flickering over to the lanky speedster with an appreciative smirk. "Maybe there's something to this League thing you guys have going, after all. Are you accepting applications?"

The Flash turned back to him, grinning like he'd won the sweepstakes. But then, they really _had_, hadn't they? "See? I _knew _you'd come around eventually!" He returned his attention to the sky as the first rays of sunlight streaked across the sky. "Who knows, after this, maybe Bats'll join back up, too."

* * *

Hundreds of miles above the Earth, Nyssa Al Ghul suddenly gasped, and then burst into tears.

_**To be concluded...**_


	26. 26 Rebirth

_Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D_

* * *

Tim was dead.

That was the sole thought running through Batman's head as he stood hunkering over the ledge of a rooftop. _'Tim is dead and it's _your_ fault. _You_ brought this on him, _you_ let him into your world, _you_ left him to face an entire city's criminal element _by himself_ while you were on _Monitor Duty_ – ' _His lips, already curled into a snarl, slid back over his teeth in unbridled self-hatred. He had tried, for the past three weeks, to keep his own ineptitude under wraps; he had _tried_ to keep it quiet. If anyone learned that the Bat had been hit where it hurt the most, Gotham would erupt into a frenzy, and the League...well, it was the damned _League _that caused this mess in the first place.

Still, he couldn't ignore that three weeks had passed and the Wayne family's sudden disappearance from high society was turning heads. More quietly, expressed only in the soft creaking of leather as he clenched his fists, he had become desperate for a solid lead. So, he'd called on the only person he could remotely trust to keep the situation to himself. J'onn J'onzz.

J'onn, to his innumerable credit, had almost given himself an aneurysm in his six hour effort to locate the boy's mind somewhere, anywhere, on Earth. He had even gone so far as to open his mind to the entirety of humanity in a risky bid that he could learn some scrap of information before he fried his own brain from the information overload. He collapsed after forty-seven seconds and didn't regain consciousness for nearly five minutes. Even then, the only thing J'onn could manage to do was roll his head along his shoulders and heave, "N-nothing..."

A faint glimmer of hope he hadn't realized existed was tersely snuffed out.

His mind, still logical, cited that there could be another explanation. Mind-dampening technology, perhaps. Tim could have been off world, or in an alternate reality, or in another time period, or any one of the other thousand insane circumstances he'd found himself in over the years. There was no concrete evidence to support his worst fear, only lack of evidence to disprove it.

Batman stared blankly at the imposing skyline, trying not to give credence to how small and alone he felt. Three weeks later, and he was still no closer to an answer, or even a _direction _to start looking for one. His eyes focused on a historic cathedral that was nothing if not out of place amid the abandoned factories and dilapidated buildings of the lower east-side. The church steeple towered above like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its fallen predecessor; stalwart, indomitable, a beacon of light for the world-weary – and, right now, there were few people more weary of the world than Batman.

Maybe Ernie Pyle was right; maybe there _were_ no atheists in foxholes, after all.

**26.  
Rebirth  
**

The antique doors opened with a pronounced creak of hinges far too loud for his tastes, but then, _any_ noise was too loud for his tastes. His eyes, narrowed and distrustful, darted across the expanse of the empty congregation hall, expecting something to emerge from the dingy stained glass windows or pop up between the pews. It wasn't in his nature to simply _walk in_– Batman was not seen unless he wanted to be seen, and waltzing through the front door was about as subtle an entrance as painting a bullseye on his head at a firing range. It came as a slight surprise when he concluded that he didn't care; not this time. He had bigger things to worry about than stealth, and Lord help the poor fool that decided to pick a fight with him tonight.

The corner of his lip twitched in distaste. Not even ten seconds, and this place was already getting to him.

He walked through the nave, his footfalls silent against the carpet while the faint buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights echoed in his ears. The hall smelled mustier than he last recalled it, and as he passed the pews, he spotted the thin layer of dust coating some of them. Much like every other sector, it seemed the church had been cutting back on manpower when they could least afford the loss in personnel. He made a passing note to anonymously donate a few million to this particular parish at the next opportunity. That should tide them over for a year or two; enough to keep the church out of the red, if it wasn't already in it.

Batman ascended the steps leading to the sanctuary, coming to a halt at the altar. An ornately carved wooden cross rose from the center of the stone block, meticulously well-kept in spite of the appearance of the back pews. Half a dozen freshly-lit candles framed the cross, their flames bathing the lacquered pine in a warm orange hue. He wasn't sure what he was doing here, or what he was expecting to achieve, but he couldn't deny how calming the flickering of the – wait, _freshly-lit _candles?

He glanced to his left. Father Michael Stromwell stood in the doorway to the sacristy, his round and aging face mildly surprised. "Odd to see you here at this time of night," he stated by way of greeting. "Is something on your mind?"

Good old Father Michael, always cutting right to the chase. He often wondered how he and his conning, thieving, drug-pushing scum-bucket of a brother could possibly be related. He returned his gaze to the altar. "I have a lot of things on my mind, Father."

Father Michael crossed the small enclave slowly, his limp more pronounced now that he was alone than if he were in front of parishioners. "So I see. Do you care to talk about it?"

He opened his mouth immediately, and then closed it. "No, Father, I don't."

Father Michael nodded sagely, his cane _thump_ing softly against the carpet as he descended the few stairs to the nave. "That's fine. I hope you don't mind company, though." Batman looked over his shoulder to see the elderly priest sitting down upon the first pew, cane resting idly between his knees. In response to the scrutiny, he smiled wanly, folding both hands on top of the cane. "A shepherd doesn't abandon one of his flock."

"I'm not part of your flock."

"As much as you may try to convince the world otherwise, you're still human," Father Michael responded without missing a beat. "In my book, that makes you part of it."

His face hardened. He wasn't sure why. "And if I wanted nothing to do with you or your _flock_?"

"Then you wouldn't be here." He nodded to the high arched ceiling. "No one comes to a church to enjoy the nightlife. No lost soul _wants_ to be lost. God gave us all free will, but that doesn't mean He can't nudge us in the right direction every now and then. That's why you're here." He motioned his dented wooden cane towards himself. "And that's why _I'm _here."

Batman returned his attention back to the faintly-glowing candles that danced in the stale church air. His tongue felt like lead. "My son is missing."

The silence that greeted his confession was deafening.

He felt compelled to fill that void with something; he was talking before he realized he opened his mouth. "It's been three weeks. He couldn't have just vanished without a trace. There _has _to be something that I'm overlooking."

"Do you believe he's still alive?"

"I...I don't know," he admitted heavily. "I know what I _want _to believe, but...I can't ignore the signs just because I don't like what they have to say."

"And what are those signs saying?"

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the edges of the stone altar, a bit amazed that he wasn't struck dead instantly for the sacrilege. As it was, his chest hurt. "Nothing. They say nothing."

He heard the rustling of cloth behind him. "I doubt there's anything I can tell you that you haven't already thought of yourself or dismissed, but for whatever it's worth, I'll say this: sometimes, salvation can come from the least likely source. Have faith."

He looked askance at the priest. "In God?"

"In yourself. And your son." A hand landed solidly on his left shoulder. "We're _all_ God's children, Batman; you and your son included. And if He loves his children _half _as much as you love yours, then He will not forsake you in your time of need. Of that, I have no doubt." Father Michael squeezed. "Have faith." His hand slipped back down to his side as he took an uneven step backward. "If you or your son ever need a place of refuge, our doors are always open. I make a mean baloney sandwich."

If anyone else had dangled that olive branch in front of him, especially now, he would have instantly raised his defenses and shut them out entirely. From Father Michael, though, he knew that there was no presumption or judgment attached, and that his offer was simply an offer; nothing more, nothing less. He returned the gesture of kindness with the faintest grin of appreciation, little more than a softening of his unusually rigid features. "Thank you, Father Michael. I'll keep that in mind."

The priest smiled once more, reaching over to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder.

A jolt of electricity shot through his arm and chest.

Then darkness.

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep_.

Diana listened to the steady chirping of the heart monitor as she entered the recovery room. In defiance of the odds, the rules, and the very Gods themselves, Batman had managed to save humanity from certain ruination, though at great personal cost. On the strictest terms, he had died twice – once before he had even reached the Watchtower, and a second time, briefly, on the operating table. Young Nyssa had insisted on planting herself directly outside of the emergency room, her ordinarily cold eyes red and swollen from bouts of hysterical sobbing. While her Amazonian pride chafed at the public display of weakness, she certainly couldn't fault it; she understood the girl's terror all too well.

She had wanted to stay, but her duties to Man's World outweighed her personal desires; Batman had ensured Earth's immediate survival, now it was up to everyone else to pick up the pieces. Her time since then had consisted mostly of digging survivors out of the rubble the world-wide quake had created, and quelling some of the chaos that had sprung up in its wake. Visiting Bruce was the closest to a respite that she was likely to get in the near future, and she was glad to have it. Her gaze turned to the room's third occupant, currently the only one conscious aside from herself. "Any news, Alfred?"

The butler look his head wearily. "No change so far, I'm afraid to say. However, given the injuries Master Bruce has sustained..." More quietly, "And given his abhorrence for _involuntary vacations_, it may well be a blessing in disguise."

"It's been over a week." Her attention returned to Bruce. "Has he ever stayed unconscious for this long after a battle?"

Alfred's eyebrow curved up. "I should say, madam – after battling with a _deity_, ending up merely comatose should be considered an incredible stroke of luck."

Luck. She resisted the urge to run her fingers over her upper abdomen, where a particularly nasty scar was now hidden by her armor. The price paid for her faith in humanity.

The infirmary doors opened in a soft rush of air. Only a week, and Dick's condition had seemingly returned to normal, with no trace of the disease to be found in his system. Diana hoped the rest of the afflicted that were currently being inoculated with Flash's serum healed so quickly. "How are you feeling?"

Nightwing grimaced faintly. "About the same as I felt the _last _fifty times I've been asked that."

"It's quite good to see you up and about, Master Dick," Alfred assuaged, a rare moment of affection brightening his normally decorous expression. "No doubt Master Bruce will be thrilled to see you've made a full recovery."

Dick raised an eyebrow in a distinctly Alfred-esque manner. "Oh, really? Define 'thrilled'."

"He may actually smile."

"Wow. Now, that _would _be something."

Diana's brows pinched in confusion, unsure if their amazement was facetious or not. She had seen instances when Batman had smiled; granted, they were rare, but it certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibility. She glanced between the two of them. "Has he never smiled around you before?"

Dick shrugged one shoulder. "He used to." He paused. "I miss it."

She saw the vague sadness that shaded his eyes, and decided to change the subject. "How goes the clean up in Gotham?"

"Oh, _fantastic_," Dick answered with a sharp, sardonic cheer. "With the right contracts and funding, we should have Gotham completely rebuilt in...oh, about thirty years, or so. It's just the kind of project Bruce can really sink his teeth into."

"And a lot of others," said a new voice, scratchy from disuse.

Alfred's head rose in surprise. "Master Bruce! Oh, thank Heaven."

Diana's expression mirrored the butler's, questioning, "How long have you been awake?"

"Since I came through the door, at least," Dick responded, meeting his former-mentor's perpetually withering stare. "I was wondering when you'd give it up and say something."

She knew that Bruce was too disciplined to double-take the way that he wanted to. _She _certainly wanted to. "How did you know?"

"It's pretty hard to play dead when you have a heart monitor strapped to your chest." Dick grinned. "So, how's it feel to be back in the world of the living?"

Bruce winced when he shifted up along the pillows. "Painful."

Nightwing snorted. "Oh yeah, he'll be fine."

True to the prediction, Bruce cracked a smile. It was small, less than the average smirk that stretched across Wally's face on a bad day, but for Batman, it was monumental. "You're looking better. The Flash pulled through?"

Nightwing nodded. "It's being mass-produced and distributed to all the major affected areas as we speak. I've gotta admit, the guy's a lot smarter than I initially gave him credit for."

She didn't miss the way Bruce's gaze turned momentarily distant. "He has a way of surprising people."

"He isn't the only one."

The rest of the room whirled again, eyes falling upon one of the more surreal things to occur since the crisis began: Phantom Stranger sitting in a chair. His cape fell lazily over his strangely hunched frame as he spoke, "Your survival in the face of insurmountable odds is a testament to both your strength and courage."

"Our survival is thanks to you," Diana said. "If you hadn't intervened, Hades would have escaped through the portal."

Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly. "I thought you weren't allowed to intervene."

"Not without dire consequence."

Bruce's eyes narrowed further. "_How _dire?"

Wordlessly, Stranger brushed his cape aside and lifted a single hand; his palm was oozing blood. Diana gasped.

Nightwing, not having been touched by Phantom Stranger's power, shrugged a shoulder in confusion. "A paper cut? That's it?"

"He bleeds now," Bruce responded, voice hushed.

Stranger spoke as Alfred dutifully grabbed a roll of gauze and made his way over. "The last time I was offered an opportunity to directly affect the outcome of a conflict, I abstained, resulting in a bloody civil war. As penance, I was disallowed from ever interfering with events again, only able to watch and guide others from afar."

"Why break that rule now?" Nightwing asked.

Stranger's expression, still partially hidden by his fedora, turned remorseful at the unspoken scrutiny. "My inaction sowed the chaos that humanity has been forced to reap for generations. The suffering of trillions could have been prevented, had I the willingness to sacrifice everything for something greater than myself. _Your _willingness." His voice, normally so soothing, hardened in resolve as he stated, "I failed those under my protection once. Never again."

Bruce relaxed against the pillows, satisfied.

Alfred finished off the wrap with a quick tug, inquiring, "What will you do with your new-found mortality?"

Stranger considered the question with a tilt of the head. "Experience it."

"Avoid experiencing the dying part," Nightwing quipped. "It's not as fun as it sounds."

"Death is a part of life, and there are fates far worse than it."

"Guess you haven't experienced irony, either."

Phantom Stranger looked at his bandaged hand briefly, bowing his head in thanks to Alfred as he walked to the infirmary doors. "Though it was handed down as punishment, I consider this a gift. Immortality is not what Ra's Al Ghul believed it to be."

Nightwing smirked. "Y'know, I'd say, 'Don't be a stranger,' but that would be self-defeating."

"If you ever need refuge, you're always welcome at the Watchtower," Diana offered. "Hopefully, we'll meet again under better circumstances."

"Perhaps. The road will be long, for all of us. Let us hope that it's one worth traveling." Stranger's lips quirked into a tiny, wistful grin that seemed both completely out of place and pitch perfect. "Who knows what the future holds?"

Diana looked back at Bruce as Phantom Stranger exited. Bruce stared at the closed doors, expression determined. He murmured, more to himself, it seemed, than anyone else, "I know what it _won't _hold."

In spite of herself, Diana's heart sank at those words.

Bruce's eyes found hers. His expression was uncharacteristically hesitant.

Alfred noted the look and discreetly strode to the doors, patting Nightwing on the shoulder as he passed. The younger vigilante nodded and followed suit.

The two gazed at each other for a long moment. Bruce murmured, "You died."

"So did you," she riposted. "Twice."

"You're not supposed to die."

"You're not supposed to come back from the dead. Twice."

His eyes narrowed. "You're being difficult."

"_I'm _being difficult?" she repeated incredulously.

"I can't afford to lose you, Princess." His voice was vulnerable. "I don't _want _to lose you."

"Phantom Stranger was right; death _is_ a part of life," she said, crossing over to stand next to him. "But that doesn't mean that death is the _end _of it." He seemed dissatisfied with that response, so she gently ran a hand through his hair, leaning down to look into his eyes. "You will never lose me, Bruce. Not in this life, not in the next. I swear it."

He closed the distance and kissed her. She was never so happy to not get an answer.

* * *

Tim sat uneasily in the hard-backed chair, fingers toying with the edges of his domino mask. It had been a very long, hectic week. Since he was a mere mortal, most of his efforts were spent on the Watchtower, coordinating rescue missions and relaying data to the crews on the ground. It wasn't nearly as heroic as rushing into the belly of an evil mastermind's underground lair, but frankly, he felt more accomplished doing this than drop-kicking demons. He was reaching more people, this way; his work was producing real results. In spite of the carnage Ra's Al Ghul left behind, it felt _good _to rebuild something. It gave him a little bit of hope for himself.

He twisted the mask between his forefinger and thumb. Of course, there was the matter with Bruce. Tim had heard of his condition shortly after arriving on the satellite, and he'd tried – really _tried_– to see him in the Medbay. But with all the injuries and the chaos that came with a triage, he was outright ordered to leave the floor unless he began vomiting internal organs. The closest he got to visiting since then was the reinforced sliding doors, before panic and shame got the better of him and he scurried off back to his station to pretend it never happened.

But that hadn't worked yet, had it? Pretending it never happened. No, he wasn't like Batman; he couldn't shut off the part of his brain that dealt with pain. He couldn't erase the last four years of his life – if he could, he would, in a heartbeat – and go on with life, the way it had always been. He needed to make the suffering worth it. He had to justify his survival, somehow. Dying in an alleyway was not the way to do that. Not anymore.

Maybe Bruce was right for firing him. Maybe Bruce knew he wasn't cut out for –

The door to his quarters slid back. Tim turned his head to look at his guest, then rose to his feet automatically when his brain comprehended who was in front of him.

Batman, expression and posture tight with agony, let the doors close behind him. Tim gaped at the statuesque figure silently, heart thudding in his chest. He didn't know exactly what was going to happen, but he expected a harsh reprisal for his stunt, at least. Maybe a re-firing, just to get the point across.

He did not expect to suddenly find his face buried in a Kevlar-layered collarbone, an impossibly strong arm hooked around his neck like his head was in danger of tumbling off of his shoulders. "It wasn't your fault," Bruce said quietly, his voice as pained as it was earnest. "It was never your fault."

He couldn't breathe. "But I..."

"You saved your life. And mine." The grip around his shoulders tightened, the sharp corner of a jawline pressed against the side of his head. "Never tell yourself anything different."

Tim's eyes burned with tears as he wove his arms around his adoptive father's torso. He wasn't sure if he would be able to keep to that promise, but for Batman's sake – for _Bruce's_ sake – he would try.

* * *

In another part of the Watchtower, dark save for the dim glow of a monitor, Alfred watched the display of affection, and the very tentative beginnings of a renewed bond. It took Earth being pushed to the very brink of destruction for Bruce to see how much he had left to lose, but it seemed the boy finally caught on. He settled back in the rocking chair, a feeling of peace settling over him.

"Beautiful, isn't he?"

Curious, Alfred peered to the new voice...and felt his jaw go slack.

Thomas Wayne smiled down at him, not looking a day over thirty. "So," he began jovially, "a ghost, an angel, and a demon walk into a bar. Stop me if you've heard this one before."

Alfred's jaw continued to remain slack.

Thomas looked at the screen, brown eyes dancing with mirth. "All things considered, he's turned out remarkably well. I'm not one-hundred percent certain about the dressing up as a bat thing, but Martha doesn't seem too concerned about it." He shoved his hands into his pockets, regarding him warmly. "He loves you, you know. More than anything in the world."

Alfred's mouth worked soundlessly, thoughts and feelings he hadn't realized were there bubbling to the surface with a fury. It wouldn't do to cry; it wasn't proper. "I should hope not, Master Wayne."

"How many times have I told you to call me 'Thomas'?" Alfred couldn't help but smile slightly as he continued, "You know, I've never had a chance to thank you for all you've done. So, let's get to it, then." He motioned to the door behind them with a jerk of his head. "C'mon, old friend, let's go. You know how bad of an idea it is to keep Martha waiting."

On impulse, Alfred stood and began walking next to his closest friend. "Where, might I ask, are we going?"

"Why, the bar, of course." Thomas' grin widened a fraction. "Who did you think the angel was?"

* * *

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

Marie King-Dennis sat curled up on the corner of her fuzzy blue couch, half-heartedly attempting to pay attention to the news. _"In a bizarre twist of fortune, part-time Gotham resident and reformed feline fatale Selina Kyle was honored today by local government officials for her actions during the Near Apocalypse. City authorities state that in the early morning hours..."_

Her brain tuned out the noise, eyes falling to the parcel lit a pale blue by the television's LED display. Her monthly donation rested upon her wood-paneled coffee table, sealed but undelivered. Ever since Batman had found her, the quiet little life she built for herself had all but unraveled. She had gone from soft-spoken wife and mother to paranoid wreck. People were beginning to notice. Martin already did, but he assumed it was due to the trauma from the _break-in_. Thankfully, Batman was always excellent at blending in with the shadows, so she never had to explain in more detail just who had been in the room with her. 'Some psycho in black,' was the best description she would ever give, and for once, it would be the truth – or something like it.

_"...Police Commissioner Joseph Loeb announced his resignation this morning, amid allegations leveled by former-Commissioner James Gordon, in which he states that Loeb lied to public officials and the press about dozens of city-wide threats that endangered the lives of millions of Gothamites. This is the latest accusation made after reports surfaced about Gotham City Police officials withholding vital information regarding Leopard..."_

She leaned forward and plucked the letter up in her fingers, running a thumb over the coarse paper. Last week, he suggested that she talk to a therapist about it, if she wasn't comfortable opening up to him; it was Martin-speak for, 'I'm losing patience.' He was getting tired of her always looking over her shoulder, _(waiting for those beady white eyes to be glaring at her from a shadow)_, or constantly waking up in the middle of the night screaming _(that Batman was coming to finish what he'd started)_. He wanted Marie back. She couldn't blame him. She wanted Marie back, too.

_"In other news, the church bells are ringing! Gotham's own Bruce Wayne, finance mogul and boy billionaire, finally tied the knot Tuesday evening to Diana Prince in a small, private ceremony held on the grounds of his mansion, Wayne Manor. Prince, a Grecian diplomat, reportedly met Mr. Wayne while volunteering at..."_

She shot up from her comfortable spot, suddenly stifled by her home's quaint four walls, suddenly terrified that it was all going to evaporate before her. What was she going to do without this? Without _them_? Marie raced off to her son's room, tucked in the corner of the small, two-bedroom home.

She opened the door. Her heart froze in her chest.

Batman angled his head upward, slightly, serving only to get her in his sights. "Hello, Harley."

She said nothing, did nothing.

"He's grown."

She struggled to understand his aim about as fiercely as she struggled to breathe. The fury she witnessed last time was absent, and that put her more on edge than seeing it. Why was she not a puddle of broken bones and agony yet? That made sense – treating her with this..._cordiality_ didn't. Batman was _never_ cordial. _ (Except for all the times he saved her life after she tried to kill him.) _"What do you want?"

"Answers."

"You're not the only one," she replied tiredly, the months of lingering terror and years of guilt finally catching up to her. She gave a mental goodbye to Martin, and hoped he would understand, one day. "Listen, if you're here to kill me, just do it and get it over with."

His gaze sharpened, white lenses stark and unreadable.

She felt pressured to continue. She would _not _let this fall apart. "We both know I deserve it."

"A lot of people deserve a lot of things." He gazed down at blissfully unaware toddler slumbering in the bed. _Timothy_. "He deserves his mother. You want to take that from him?"

The surreality of this conversation made her head throb. His unwillingness to finish what he had started – what _she _had started – was driving her insane. Again. "Why are you doing this?"

Batman remained silent in deliberation. That he was deliberating her question and not murdering her for asking it terrified her on levels she didn't know existed. Eventually, he answered, "Salvation."

She squinted at him in confusion. "What?"

"I'm checking up on a lead; maybe you can help me," he stated. "Last I heard, Harley Quinn fell to her death in the ruins of Arkham. I was never able to retrieve a body, but I never had any reason to assume otherwise until suspicious letters started showing up on Tim Drake's doorstep." He appraised her. "Do you know if she's still alive?"

She gaped at the vigilante for a moment in open amazement, before staring down at her beautiful baby boy. She clenched the letter in her hand. She would not let this fall apart. "Nah. She's worm food."

"I certainly hope so," he said, adding in a dangerous tone, "because if she ever shows up again, so help me God, I'll come down on you so hard, it'll leave a _crater_."

Strangely enough, his threat eased her fears. She could accept those terms. "I wouldn't expect anything else."

He turned smartly on his heel and headed toward the open window. In plain sight. Her mind refused to comprehend it. Without thought, she blurted out, "How is he doing?"

Batman lurched to a halt. He glanced over his shoulder, replying, "Entering his senior year of college. Communications. Straight-A student. He seems...happy."

Her eyes stung. Good. She didn't ruin his life. He survived. Good. "I'm glad."

He said nothing, at first. He turned back to the windowsill, replying quietly, "So am I." He nodded curtly. "Good night, Mrs. Dennis."

Batman left.

_**The End**_

* * *

_A/N: Wow. Where do I begin? This story is something of a catharsis for me. At the risk of revealing more about myself than I really should (especially on the internet), I haven't had the most stable life or relationships with those around me. I've never been very good at trusting people; the distrust is somewhat justified, but only somewhat, and only to a certain number of people. I began writing this as a challenge to myself - to see if I could actually finish something I set out to do. Something ambitious, something worth putting effort into. To paraphrase Robin William's character in the Bird Cage, I know it's just fanfic, but I'd like it to be _good_ fanfic; if possible, great fanfic. Something that I could look back on and be proud of doing.  
_

_I'd always identified with Batman's character and personality on a very deep and personal level due to many extenuating circumstances and factors. I wrote this, at first, because I wanted Batman to go through Hell, and come out on the other side. I wanted a character that I revered to be put through the ringer, just so he could pick himself up by the bootstraps and become a better person as a result of it. Sound sadistic? It probably is, but that's the stuff heroes are made of - they take the hits normal people can't or won't and keep going. They get beaten down to the point of submission, but refuse to actually submit. What doesn't kill them, invariably, makes them stronger. I wanted to epitomize that. However, in Batman's case, it's something slightly different: he is, by virtue of his character, his own worst enemy. He is incapable of trusting himself to trust others, because he fears that any miscalculation could cost them their lives. His sense of hyper-responsibility is more dangerous to his life and the lives of those around him than any twisted plan of the Joker or eye-lasers from Darkseid.  
_

_Like I said, I understood the character, because in many ways, I was, and still am, that character.  
_

_In some ways, this story has become reality imitating art. My life, and my outlook on it, has changed so much since I began this story over two years ago that getting back into it (sometime around Massive Time Gap #1) was actually somewhat difficult. Many of the extenuating circumstances and personal difficulties that came to define who I was were no longer there - because I stopped putting myself in a position where these extenuating circumstances were allowed to thrive. __Much like Batman realized later in the story, _I finally understood, after a very slow and painful process, that I had a choice in how I wanted my life to unfold, and that no one could make that choice but myself. I can't honestly say that I'm the same person I was when I began writing this story, and frankly, I think that's a good thing. I gained perspective that I lacked before, and hopefully, I was able to reflect some of that feeling of added zen, if you will, into this last chapter without completely destroying the momentum of everything.  


_But enough of my rambling. I hope those of you who have been waiting months for this chapter will find it suitable. I appreciate your patience regarding the large gaps between the final chapters (working 12-15 hour days can do that, I hear), and all your words of support. I may not respond often to emails or reviews, but rest assured, I've read every single one, and am as grateful for all of you taking time out of your days to read it, as I am honored that you would enjoy something that I've made. Thank you all for sharing in this with me. :)  
_


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